MY  WAR  DIARY 


BOOKS  BY  MADAME  WADDINGTON 
Published  by   CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

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The  church  and  school  at  Les  Aulneaux 


MY  WAR  DIARY 


BY 
MARY   KING  WADDINGTON 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1917 


Copyright,  1915,  1916,  1917,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  September,  1917 
Reprinted  October,  November.  1917 


CV. 


PREFACE 

This  simple,  every-day  record  of  the  experi- 
ences through  which  one  French  family  has  lived 
since  August,  19 14,  may  seem  at  first  sight  a  charm- 
ing, but  not  very  important  contribution  to  the 
literature  of  the  war.  But  if  we  accept  Henry 
Cabot  Lodge's  dictum  that  "one  fact  is  gossip, 
and  that  two  related  facts  are  history,"  we  shall 
realise  in  closing  the  book  how  much  history  we 
have  absorbed  in  a  Jourdainesque  kind  of  ig- 
norance. 

The  cur6  at  Mareuil,  the  little  grandsons 
finding  a  German  skull,  the  lawn  sacrificed  to 
potatoes,  the  roses  rising  triumphant  over  utilita- 
rianism, the  good-byes  at  the  railroad-stations, 
the  Christmas  tree,  the  friendly  talks  ...  all 
these  may  be  trifles  in  one  way;  but  they  are 
making  history.  After  all,  we  know  more  about 
the  Lilliputians  than  about  the  Brobdingnagians, 
and  they  are  more  illustrative  of  Swift. 

This  story  of  the  past  war  months  is  like  a 
rich  fabric  so  cunningly  woven  that  the  rare  and 
restrained  touches  of  emotion  stand  out  in  bril- 
liant relief  against  the  neutral — no,  that  word 
has  fallen  into  disrepute — against  the  sober  tones 
of  the  daily  background.    And  it  is  only  in  cer- 


3R3C0 


vi  PREFACE 

tain  lights  that  one  catches  the  gleam  of  the  dis- 
creetly hidden  threads  of  gold  and  silver  which 
indicate  the  heroism  of  mother  and  wife.  Ah, 
they  are  beautiful  and  sublime,  these  lives  of 
French  women !  Son  or  husband  at  the  front, 
while  the  children  at  home  are  cared  for,  the 
wounded,  poor,  and  wandering  helped,  fields 
tilled,  shops  kept  open,  and  everything  done 
cheerfully,  "all  in  the  day's  work,"  with  no  pos- 
ing, no  assumption  of  being  above  the  ordinary. 
To  those  of  us  honoured  by  the  author's  friend- 
ship this  book  means  a  great  deal.  We  have 
seen  her  brilliant  in  the  world,  tender  and  gay 
at  home,  helpful  and  widely  charitable  in  her 
many  duties,  while  all  the  time  we  divine  that 
the  mother's  heart  holds  always  the  pride  and 
the  ache  of  which  she  writes  so  seldom. 

Helen  Choate  Prince. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mobilisation — First  Days  of  the  War  i 

October  to  December,  1914 105 

January  to  June,  1915 175 

July  to  December,  1915      255 

With  the  British  Expeditionary  Force — 

Hazebrouck,  October,  1916 337 


MOBILISATION-FIRST    DAYS    OF 
THE  WAR 


MOBILISATION— FIRST  DAYS  OF 
THE  WAR 

Mareuil,  Saturday,  August  ist,  '14. 
I  will  try  and  write  regularly,  Dear,  but  this 
iniquitous  war  has  come  so  suddenly  that  we  are 
all  bewildered.  Even  my  journey  down  here 
seems  a  horrible  dream,  the  Gare  de  l'Est  crowded 
with  troops  of  all  grades,  reservists  joining  their 
corps,  soldiers  guarding  the  line,  a  strong  detach- 
ment at  every  bridge  and  tunnel.  When  I  think 
that  on  Thursday,  when  Francis  lunched,  he  said 
the  state  of  things  was  serious,  that  many  men 
had  been  sent  off  to  join  their  corps,  but  merely 
as  a  matter  of  precaution,  but  that  the  two  Em- 
perors, German  and  Russian,  were  still  "talking," 
and  every  one  hoped  there  would  be  no  general 
war!  He  thought  I  could  perfectly  start  for 
Cowes  on  Monday,  and  it  was  agreed  that  I  should 
come  down  here  for  the  day,  Saturday,  to  say 
good-bye  to  them  all.  However,  I  must  say  that 
on  Wednesday  night,  when  Ambassador  Herrick 
and  Sir  Austin  Lee  of  the  British  Embassy  had 
dined  with  us,  they  were  pretty  blue.  Mr.  Her- 
rick thought  a  general  war  was  inevitable;  it 
would  be  impossible  to  keep  it  between  Austria 
and  Servia;  that  Russia  would  surely  interfere  if 
Servia  was  attacked,  and  then  France  must  fight. 

3 


4  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Friday  afternoon  we  drove  about  Paris  in  all 
directions.  Here  in  our  part  of  the  town  and  in 
the  Champs  Elysees,  all  was  quiet  enough,  but  the 
boulevards  were  crowded.  In  front  of  the  office 
of  the  Matin  that  issued  an  extra  about  7  o'clock, 
a  long  line  of  people  stretched  half-way  across 
the  boulevard.  All  threw  themselves  on  the 
paper,  those  who  could  not  get  one  reading  over 
the  shoulders  of  those  who  had  one.  A  perfectly 
quiet,  well-dressed  crowd,  a  great  many  women, 
a  great  many  Americans,  all  most  eager  for  news. 
Austria's  declaration  of  war  to  Russia,  the  only 
news — speculations  of  all  kind  in  the  crowd; 
"Austria  has  gone  mad,"  we  heard  an  English- 
man say;  everybody  wondering  what  France 
would  do;  all  the  men  looked  grave,  but  there 
was  no  excitement.  The  Petit  Temps,  which 
comes  about  9  o'clock,  didn't  give  anything  more, 
so  I  decided  to  come  down  here,  as  we  had  agreed. 

As  soon  as  I  got  into  the  Gare  de  l'Est  this 
morning,  I  realised  how  serious  the  state  of  affairs 
was.  The  station  was  crowded  with  officers, 
soldiers,  recruits,  and  baggage.  They  gave  me  a 
return  ticket,  as  I  had  told  Henrietta*  I  would  take 
the  afternoon  train  back  and  get  home  for  late  din- 
ner. I  asked  an  officer  what  it  all  meant :  Merely 
a  measure  of  precaution,  he  told  me — all  the  men, 
officers,  soldiers,  and  recruits  joining  their  corps. 
There  was  perfect  order,  the  trains  starting  at 
*  Madame  Waddington's  sister. 


MOBILISATION  S 

their  regular  hours,  but  anxiety  was  in  the  air. 
At  every  station  there  were  soldiers. 

On  getting  here,  I  found  only  the  gardener  to 
receive  me.  He  told  me  Francis*  had  received  his 
convocation  this  morning,  and  had  gone  to  Paris 
with  Charlotte,  but  would  be  back  for  dinner. 
It  was  extraordinary  to  see  soldiers  at  our  little 
station.  I  lunched  quietly  with  Madeleine  Sal- 
landrouze  and  the  children*  We  walked  about 
the  garden,  the  boys  showing  me  their  potager 
with  much  pride,  and  then  settled  ourselves  under 
the  trees,  discussing  the  situation  and  trying  to 
persuade  ourselves  that  there  would  be  no  war. 

Suddenly,  about  4  o'clock,  we  heard  the  drum, 
an  ominous  sound  in  these  days.  In  all  the  big 
towns,  the  mobilisation,  or  a  great  fire,  or  acci- 
dent, is  announced  by  the  bells — a  "tocsin";  in 
the  villages  by  a  drum.  We  all  rushed  to  the 
gate.  The  men  came  running  in  from  the  fields 
(we  are  in  full  harvest  time),  leaving  their  horses 
and  placid  white  oxen  on  the  road,  anywhere. 
Women  ran  out  of  the  cottages,  their  babies  in 
their  arms,  and  children  tugging  at  their  skirts,  and 
the  drummer,  escorted  by  the  whole  population, 
us  also,  put  up  his  affiches  at  the  Maine  and  the 
station,  for  instant  mobilisation.  The  whole  vil- 
lage was  in  a  turmoil.  Some  of  the  men  were  to 
start  at  once— at  9  that  night.  The  chef  de  gare 
had  his  orders;  nothing  but  military  trains  were 
*  Madame  Waddington's  son. 


6  MY  WAR  DIARY 

to  pass — you  will  remember  that  we  are  in  the 
direct  line  to  Germany,  five  hours'  rail  from  the 
frontier.  He  told  me  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  get  back  to  Paris  to-night;  the  train  would 
probably  not  start,  might  wait  on  a  siding  all 
night,  or  perhaps  arrive  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  It  would  be  most  imprudent  for  me  to 
risk  it  alone.  I  tried  to  telephone — already  cut; 
sent  a  telegram  which  never  arrived,  and  Hen- 
rietta went  nearly  mad  with  anxiety  waiting  for 
me  and  imagining  every  possible  misfortune. 

Mme.  Sallandrouze  came  down  at  6  o'clock 
alone.  Francis  and  Charlotte*  had  breakfasted 
with  her  and  promised  to  meet  her  at  the  gare, 
but  they  didn't  appear.  I  suppose  he  had  too 
much  to  do,  as  he  had  to  buy  all  sorts  of  things, 
army  shoes  and  flannel  shirts,  knapsack,  flask,  etc. 
Hers  was  the  last  passenger-train  that  left  the 
Gare  de  l'Est.  She  thought  Francis  must  start 
to-morrow  morning. 

All  the  evening  from  6  o'clock,  military  trains 
passed;  mostly  cavalry — horses  and  men  in  the 
trains,  all  cheering  and  singing.  Our  boys  were 
wild  with  excitement,  but  we  finally  got  them  to 
bed.  When  I  went  up-stairs  to  say  good  night 
to  them,  they  were  saying  their  prayers,  kneeling 
before  a  little  shrine  with  a  statue  of  the  virgin 
and  some  flowers — Mme.  S.  and  Madeleine  kneel- 
ing just  behind  them.    When  they  had  finished 

*  Madame  Waddington's  daughter-in-law. 


MOBILISATION  j 

their  little  childish  prayer,  "Bon  Dieu,  benissez 
Papa,  Maman,  Bonne  Maman,  Danny,  tout  ceux 
que  nous  aimons,"  there  was  a  pause,  and  then: 
"Bon  Dieu,  pr6servez  la  France."  I  think,  per- 
haps, that  simple  baby  prayer  will  be  listened  to 
as  much  as  the  superb  proclamations  of  the 
Kaiser  to  the  "God  of  our  fathers,  who  is  always 
with  us!" 

All  night  the  trains  passed.  About  9.30  we 
heard  the  sound  of  cheering,  and  ran  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  garden  to  see  the  soldiers.  We  thought 
the  boys  were  sound  asleep  in  their  beds,  but  we 
suddenly  saw  two  little  figures  in  their  white 
nightgowns,  running  over  the  lawn  and  the  ten- 
nis, barefoot,  waving  their  flags  and  shouting: 
"Vive  l'armee!  Vive  la  France!"  at  the  top  of 
their  voices.  They  climbed  upon  the  wall  and 
no  one  had  the  heart  to  send  them  away.  I  have 
sent  again  to  the  last  train,  which  did  not  come, 
and  the  chef  de  gare  assures  me  there  is  no  chance 
of  our  getting  away  to-morrow.  I  am  perfectly 
miserable.  I  must  see  Francis  before  he  goes.  I 
may  never  see  him  again.  I  don't  think  any  one 
is  sleeping  much  to-night,  in  this  house  or  in  the 
village. 

Paris,  Sunday,  August  2nd. 
Have  arrived,  but  such  a  journey.     I  was  up 
at  6  this  morning,  as  the  chef  de  gare  sent  me 
word  a  train  might  perhaps  come  at  7  o'clock, 


8  MY  WAR  DIARY 

and  I  had  better  come  at  once  to  the  station  and 
wait  for  it,  but  that  everything  was  very  uncer- 
tain; he  could  not  guarantee  that  it  would  reach 
Paris.  I  went  as  soon  as  I  could  get  ready,  and 
waited  at  the  station  until  the  train  arrived  about 
8 — a  very  long  one,  almost  entirely  military,  only 
one  or  two  passenger  carriages,  which  were 
crowded. 

We  were  fourteen  in  our  carriage  (which  in  ordi- 
nary times  seats  eight),  ten  seated,  four  standing, 
and  three  children.  We  stopped  at  every  station, 
soldiers  on  our  train,  and  all  the  trains  we  passed, 
singing  and  cheering.  At  one  of  the  small  sta- 
tions, many  of  the  soldiers  got  out  and  were  trans- 
ferred to  the  Chateau-Thierry  line,  and  from 
there,  directly  to  the  front.  A  pretty  girl  was 
saying  good-bye  to  her  soldier  and  crying.  She 
was  instantly  taken  to  task  by  one  of  his  com- 
rades on  our  train.  "Voyons,  petite,  du  courage; 
ne  pleure  pas;  nous  reviendrons  !M  She  looked  up 
at  me  through  her  tears,  saying:  "Tous  ne  revien- 
dront  pas,  Madame."  And  that  is  what  we  all 
are  saying  in  these  awful  days.  Who  will  be  miss- 
ing at  the  final  roll-call  ?  However,  all  the  men 
are  going  off  cheerfully,  and  sure  that  they  are 
going  to  win  this  time. 

We  had  a  nice  family  in  the  compartment,  a 
refined,  clever-looking  young  man,  a  professor 
from  Alengon,  with  his  wife  and  two  babies. 
They  had  been  travelling  since  5  o'clock  yesterday 


MOBILISATION  9 

afternoon,  and  the  poor  little  things  were  so  hot 
and  tired,  but  wonderfully  good.  They  had  been 
at  Verdun,  close  to  the  frontier,  for  their  holidays, 
and  took  the  last  train  that  left,  as  the  professor 
had  to  start  instantly  with  his  regiment.  He  said 
the  mobilisation  was  being  wonderfully  carried 
out.  One  hour  after  the  order  was  posted,  trains 
were  leaving  every  half-hour — men  and  horses  in 
perfect  condition,  and  the  spirit  of  the  men  ex- 
cellent. 

I  am  frightened  at  the  superiority  in  numbers 
of  the  Germans.  They  say  they  have  three  men 
to  one  over  us.  One  man,  however  good  he  may 
be,  cannot  hold  his  own  against  three. 

They  had  left  in  such  a  hurry  that  they  had  no 
baggage.  Couldn't  have  taken  it  if  they  had 
had  it.  All  their  belongings  were  tied  up  in  a 
nice  clean  linen  sheet.  When  we  got  to  Paris  I 
said  to  her :  "I  hope  you  and  your  babies  will  get 
safely  to  Alencon,  and  that  happier  days  are  in 
store  for  you."  Then  she  broke  down,  kissed  me, 
and  said:  "Ah,  Madame,  my  troubles  are  only 
beginning.  At  Alencon  my  husband  leaves  at 
once  for  his  regiment  at  the  frontier !"  I  said  to 
him:  "I  mustn't  say  'bonne  chance,'  but  I  can 
say  'courage.'  This  wicked  war  has  been  so 
forced  upon  us  that  we  must  win."  He  answered: 
"I  hope  and  believe  it,  Madame,  but  how  much 
blood  must  flow,  how  many  lives  be  sacrificed  be- 
fore we  get  to  the  end  of  our  struggle !"    He  did 


IO  MY  WAR  DIARY 

not  look  as  if  he  could  stand  much,  a  slight,  deli- 
cate figure,  but  his  fighting  blood  was  up,  as  it  is 
in  every  man  in  France  to-day. 

We  had  to  wait  a  few  minutes  in  the  train, 
when  we  got  to  Paris,  to  let  a  military  train  pass. 
It  was  pathetic  to  see  the  young  soldiers,  some  of 
them  looked  mere  boys — all  were  brave  and  gay, 
trying  to  keep  up.  One  nice  fair-headed  child  (for 
that  is  what  he  looked  like)  was  saying  good-bye 
to  his  mother  and  sisters.  The  women  were  smil- 
ing and  talking  until  the  last  moment,  when  the 
train  started,  and  the  young  fellow  jumped  onto 
his  carriage.  Then  the  poor  mother  broke  down 
and  sobbed.  The  girls  patted  her  back,  saying: 
"Don't  let  him  see  you  cry;  wave  your  hand- 
kerchief !" 

The  whole  aspect  of  the  place  was  changed 
since  I  left  yesterday  morning.  Then  all  the 
trains  and  autobuses  were  running  as  usual; 
nor  were  there  many  people  outside  the  station; 
it  was  only  when  I  got  inside  and  saw  the  crowd 
of  soldiers  and  reservists  that  I  had  realised  that 
war  was  not  only  possible,  but  probable.  This 
morning  it  is  absolutely  deserted — no  tramways, 
no  autobus.  They  were  all  taken  off  at  10 
o'clock  last  night,  and  utilised  at  once  for  the 
army.  Very  few  cabs,  and  they  were  instantly 
taken  by  officers.  I  had  to  walk  to  the  church 
of  St.  Augustin  before  I  got  one;  such  a  broken- 
down  old  nag,  he  could  hardly  get  along.     The 


MOBILISATION  n 

coachman  told  me  that  all  the  good  horses  had 
been  taken  at  once  for  the  army. 

I  was  completely  exhausted,  body  and  mind, 
when  I  got  to  the  house,  and  poor  H.  was  almost 
as  tired.  She  had  waited  dinner  until  nearly  10 
o'clock,  imagining  all  sorts  of  things.  Francis 
and  Charlotte  had  been  to  see  her,  saying  they 
were  going  down  to  Mareuil  at  4  o'clock.  Then 
came  the  news  of  the  mobilisation,  and  all  the 
people  who  came  in  to  see  her,  told  her  there  was 
no  chance  of  any  train  leaving  Mareuil  that  night. 
The  whole  "ligne  de  l'Est"  was  taken  for  the  mili- 
tary. I  found  nothing  from  Francis;  but  a  tele- 
gram came  later  from  him,  asking  me  to  meet 
him  at  the  Gare  de  l'Est  to-morrow  morning  at 
9  o'clock.  He  was  to  join  his  regiment  at  Caen, 
that  afternoon. 

The  M.'s  and  De  C.  F.  dined,  all  saying  that 
the  spirit  and  attitude  of  the  French  were  splen- 
did. No  declaration  of  war  yet  from  Germany. 
I  wonder  what  she  is  waiting  for.  We  are  still 
doubtful  about  England.  If  she  comes  with  us, 
I  think  Germany  is  finished — but  will  she  ? 

Monday,  August  3rd. 

I  was  at  the  Gare  de  l'Est  at  9,  getting  there 

with   difficulty  with  Arsene,   who  still  has  his 

horses.     He  asked  me  to  bring  my  coupe-file*  as 

he  had  been  stopped  once  or  twice  the  other  day 

*  Police-pass. 


12  MY  WAR  DIARY 

by  officers  who  wanted  his  horses.  I  waited  un- 
til 1 1  for  Francis,  sitting  in  the  carriage — I  didn't 
dare  get  out  for  fear  some  one  would  take  it. 

The  street  was  most  interesting,  crowded  with 
people,  soldiers,  army  wagons,  every  now  and  then 
a  squad  of  recruits  passing  with  their  sacks  on 
their  backs,  the  crowd  following  and  carrying 
their  bundles.  Two  equipes  d'infirmiere  de  la 
Croix  Rouge  in  uniform,  in  private  autos,  driven 
by  their  owners  and  going  at  full  speed.  Their 
Red  Cross  flag  gave  them  the  right  to  pass  every- 
thing, like  the  pompiers.  They  were,  of  course, 
wildly  cheered:  "Vivent  les  Femmes  de  France !" 
There  was  a  great  demand  for  conveyances,  and 
I  suppose  the  cochers  de  fiacre  asked  exorbitant 
prices,  as  we  heard  a  row  going  on  between  an 
officer  and  a  coachman,  who  evidently  had  re- 
fused to  take  him.  (Officers  and  Croix  Rouge 
nurses  needn't  pay  if  they  haven't  the  money.) 
However,  the  crowd  would  have  settled  that  mat- 
ter by  breaking  the  carriage  to  pieces.  They  were 
beginning  to  demolish  it  when  he  gave  in.  As 
they  passed  us,  he  was  scowling  and  muttering  to 
himself,  the  officer  standing  up  in  the  carriage, 
his  sword  out  of  the  scabbard,  unpleasantly  near 
the  back  of  the  coachman's  neck.  One  of  the 
young  reservists  stopped  alongside  of  my  car- 
riage, saying  civilly  enough:  "C'est  mal,  Madame, 
de  rester  assise  seule  dans  votre  voiture;  vous 
devriez  la  dormer  aux  militaires !"     "Que  voulez- 


MOBILISATION  13 

vous,  mon  ami,  j 'attends  mon  militaire;  je  l'em- 
mene  a  la  gare  pour  partir  rejoindre  son  regiment." 

He  appeared  at  11  o'clock,  my  militaire,  look- 
ing very  well  and  fit ;  his  hair  cut  short,  a  sack  on 
his  back,  another  in  his  hand,  good  stout  shoes, 
and  a  flannel  shirt.  He  was  rather  blue,  having 
left  his  wife  and  children  at  Mareuil — had  put 
his  house  on  a  war  footing.  There  are  only  maids 
in  the  house,  and  two  boys  of  eighteen,  a  young 
footman,  and  gardener.  Mme.  Sallandrouze  and 
Madeleine  stay  with  Charlotte.  He  gave  his  wife 
a  Browning  and  revolver,  showed  her  and  the 
English  nurse  how  to  use  them;  gave  strict  orders 
that  the  house  should  be  shut  and  barred  every 
night  at  8  o'clock,  and  should  show  as  little  light 
as  possible.  The  farmer  next  door  promised  to 
come  in  every  day  and  look  after  them.  The 
miller,  also  a  friend  of  the  family,  promised  sacks 
of  flour.  Francis  was  not  afraid  of  Germans 
getting  anywhere  near  this  time,  but  of  tramps 
or  a  wandering  population  who  might  get  roused 
if  we  should  have  a  reverse  at  first,  which  is  quite 
possible. 

He  came  up  to  breakfast  with  us,  and  then  I 
went  to  the  station.  They  would  not  let  me  go 
in;  no  women  were  allowed  inside,  but  a  great 
many  had  come  with  their  men,  and  the  leave- 
takings  were  trying — though  I  must  say,  as  a 
rule,  the  women  behaved  beautifully.  I  was  glad 
when  it  was  over  and  my  boy  with  his  bright 


i4  MY  WAR  DIARY 

smile  had  disappeared  tinder  the  voute.  Still  he 
was  not  going  directly  to  the  front  as  so  many  of 
his  cousins  are — Walter  and  John  Waddington, 
Pierre  Guerard,  all  cavalrymen,  who  will  bear  the 
first  brunt — but  such  partings  leave  their  mark. 
Two  women  in  a  shop  looked  at  me  so  sympa- 
thetically, saying:  "Pauvre  dame,  c'est  son  fils 
qui  part!"  There  were  quantities  of  people  in 
the  place,  but  perfect  order.  Not  a  cry  of  "A 
Berlin!"  or  of  "A  bas  les  Allemands!"  merely 
"Vive  rArmee!"  as  the  train  steamed  out  of  the 
station. 

We  had  visitors  all  the  afternoon,  all  sorts  of 
rumours  flying  about.  There  are  thousands  of 
Americans  stranded  here,  without  money,  and 
without  any  means  of  getting  home !  The  Am- 
bassador has  his  hands  full.  The  Embassy  and 
Chancellerie  are  besieged.  Schon,  the  German 
Ambassador,  is  still  here  and  very  blue.  Ger- 
many has  not  yet  declared  war  on  France;  wants 
to  provoke  France  into  declaring  it  first,  but  she 
won't  move — only  mobilised  as  a  measure  of  pru- 
dence, as  other  nations  were  doing  the  same. 

Tuesday,  August  4th. 
The  declaration  of  war  from  Germany  came 
this  morning.  Such  a  trivial,  lying  message, 
given  verbally  by  Schon,  the  Ambassador,  to 
Viviani,  Foreign  Minister — in  substance  that 
French  troops  had  invaded  German  soil,  and  that 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR  15 

aeroplanes  had  dropped  bombs  in  Germany — 
which  they  knew  was  perfectly  untrue.  Viviani 
listened  in  perfect  silence,  merely  saying  the  ac- 
cusations were  quite  false,  and  that  preparations 
would  be  made  at  once  for  the  Ambassador's 
departure.  He  left  this  evening  in  a  special 
train,  with  all  his  staff,  without  a  hostile  demon- 
stration of  any  kind — absolute  silence  when  he 
made  his  way  to  his  carriage.  Mr.  Martin, 
Directeur  du  Protocole,  was  on  the  platform  to 
see  that  all  the  arrangements  were  well  carried 
out.  Mr.  Herrick  takes  over  the  German  in- 
terests, and  I  think  will  have  plenty  to  do,  as 
there  are  many  women,  wives  of  workmen  and 
employees,  who  could  not  get  away  with  their 
men. 

The  headquarters  of  the  Croix  Rouge  is  almost 
next  door  to  us  in  the  rue  Francois  Icr,  and  the 
activity  there  is  wonderful,  autos,  carriages, 
camions  all  day  at  the  door.  Officers  and  nurses 
in  uniform,  coming  and  going,  and  boy  scouts 
starting  off  in  all  directions,  carrying  messages. 
I  rather  protested  at  the  boys  being  enrolled,  but 
some  of  our  men  friends  explained  that  they  could 
do  an  excellent  service;  a  strong,  intelligent  boy 
of  twelve  or  fourteen  years  could  carry  verbal 
messages  perfectly  well,  and  also  get  in  and  out  of 
places  where  a  full-grown  man  couldn't  pass;  also 
that  they  are  so  eager  to  go  and  be  of  some  use.  I 
suppose  we  ought  not  to  hold  them  back.     At  an 


16  MY  WAR  DIARY 

open  window  of  the  rez-de-chaussee,  two  ladies 
are  taking  down  the  names  and  addresses  of  the 
scores  of  girls  and  women  who  stand  all  day  in 
a  long  line,  asking  to  be  employed  in  some  way. 

While  I  was  standing  outside,  waiting  to  speak 
to  Henry  Outrey,  I  met  my  niece  Marguerite 
Delmas — one  married  daughter,  whose  husband  is 
with  the  army,  and  her  son  with  her.  She  had 
come  up  from  the  country  where  she  is  installing 
an  ambulance  in  her  chateau,  and  was  waiting  in 
hopes  of  getting  a  nurse  whom  she  would  take 
down  with  her.  Her  auto  has  been  requisitionne, 
but  she  had  managed  to  find  another,  and  was 
anxious  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
brought  them  all  back  to  breakfast.  The  hus- 
bands of  both  her  daughters  are  gone,  but  the  girls 
are  very  brave,  going  back  with  their  mother  to 
do  hospital  work.  They  started  at  3  o'clock  with 
the  nurse. 

The  seance  in  the  Chambre  des  Deputes  was 
splendid  to-day — all  the  deputes  standing  when 
Deschanel,  the  President  of  the  Chamber,  made 
a  panegyric  of  Jaures.  After  all,  according  to 
his  lights  and  conscience  he  was  a  patriot,  was 
dead,  assassinated,  and  all  party  feeling  should 
be  stilled  before  his  tragic  end.  The  President's 
proclamation  and  Viviani's  statement,  showing 
how  France  had  been  forced  into  the  war,  were 
enthusiastically  received,  all  the  deputies  stand- 
ing and  cheering,  and  turning  to  the  diplomatic 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR  17 

tribune,  where  were  the  British  and  Russian 
Ambassadors. 

I  went  late  to  the  U.  S.  Embassy.  Quantities 
of  people  were  waiting  in  the  anterooms  and  gal- 
lery. The  Ambassador  and  Mrs.  Herrick  were 
in  his  library,  with  several  American  women  and 
his  secretaries  coming  and  going  all  the  time  with 
despatches,  telegrams,  and  cards  of  people  who 
wanted  to  see  the  Ambassador.  He  had  seen 
Schon  before  he  went.  Some  one  of  the  Germans 
had  suggested  that  Herrick  should  put  up  the 
German  flag  at  the  American  Embassy — a  most 
brilliant  idea,  but  not  very  practical — which, 
naturally,  was  immediately  rejected.  The  Amer- 
ican Embassy  would  have  been  demolished  at 
once.  The  French  are  behaving  wonderfully 
well,  so  calm  and  dignified,  but  one  must  not  ask 
too  much  of  them,  and  the  sight  of  the  German 
flag  floating  amicably  alongside  of  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  would  have  been  too  much  for  their  nerves. 

Various  men  came  in  this  afternoon.  The 
principal  news  that  Germany  has  violated  Bel- 
gian territory — her  troops  having  invaded  Bel- 
gium. I  don't  think  England  will  stand  that; 
still  she  has  not  moved  yet,  except  to  say  that  she 
would  protect  the  French  seacoast. 

Wednesday,  August  5th. 
Great   news   this    morning!     Hurrah    for   old 
England!    She  declared  war  on  Germany  at  12 


18  MY  WAR  DIARY 

o'clock  last  night.  She  had  waited  until  then 
for  an  answer  to  her  ultimatum  saying  Germany 
must  respect  the  treaty  and  not  invade  Belgium. 
The  answer  was  perfectly  unsatisfactory  when  it 
came,  and  war  was  declared  at  once — instant 
mobilisation  of  army  and  navy  ordered.  It  is  an 
immense  relief  to  us,  as  now  Great  Britain  can 
blockade  Germany's  ports  and  not  only  take  her 
ships  and  stop  her  commerce,  but  eventually 
starve  her,  if  the  war  lasts  long.  This  will  be  a 
great  blow  to  the  German  Emperor,  who  never 
believed  that  Britain  would  go  against  him;  that 
the  two  great  Protestant  powers  would  fight  each 
other. 

Accounts  from  Berlin  say  the  Kaiser  is  quite 
demoralised,  shut  up  in  his  palace,  not  show- 
ing himself,  the  triumphant  ' 'War-Lord/'  to  his 
people.  De  Courcy  told  us  to-day  that  he  heard 
from  friends  in  Berlin  that  there  had  been  very 
stormy  scenes  between  the  Kaiser  and  the  Crown 
Prince  before  the  declaration  of  war,  the  Crown 
Prince  insisting  that  war  was  necessary,  the 
Kaiser  resisting.  Finally  the  son  said:  "You 
must  fight;  if  not,  it  is  the  end  of  the  Hohenzol- 
lerns!"  After  a  few  moments'  hesitation,  the 
Kaiser  answered:  "We  will  fight;  but  it  will  be 
the  end  of  Germany !" 

I  passed  the  Croix  Rouge  on  my  way  down- 
town. Still  the  same  crowd,  autos  filled  with 
bags  and  bundles,   and  the  long  file  of  women 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         19 

waiting  patiently  at  the  window.  I  talked  to 
a  nice-looking  countrywoman  of  uncertain  age, 
who  wanted  to  speak  to  some  one  in  authority. 
I  said  to  her:  "What  do  you  want  ?  You  are  too 
old  to  start  as  a  nurse."  "Not  me,  Madame, 
but  my  daughter,  who  is  young  and  strong;  there 
must  be  work  for  women."  I  talked  to  the  girl, 
a  nice,  healthy-looking  young  peasant,  with  good, 
honest  blue  eyes — evidently  very  poor,  almost 
in  rags.  "Do  you  know  anything  about  nurs- 
ing?" "No,  Madame."  "Canyousew?"  "No, 
Madame;  but  do  help  me  to  get  to  the  front." 
I  read  her  from  the  notices  posted  up  that  the 
Croix  Rouge  had  so  many  offers  of  service  they 
couldn't  even  answer  them.  They  would  only 
take  doctors,  surgeons,  or  medical  students  of 
both  sexes.  It  didn't  make  the  least  difference; 
she  remained  standing  in  the  file,  saying:  "There 
must  be  something  for  me  to  do  as  I  am  young 
and  strong.  I  can  scrub  floors,  make  beds,  lift 
heavy  things,  run  messages.  Oh,  Madame,  do 
help  me  to  go!" 

I  had  not  then  seen  Viviani's  proclamation  to 
the  women  of  France,  calling  upon  all  those  who 
were  young  and  strong  to  replace  the  men  in  the 
fields,  insure  this  year's  harvest,  and  prepare  the 
next. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  and  great  con- 
fusion inside  the  Croix  Rouge.  I  wanted  to  see 
the  Comtesse  d'Haussonville,  the  Presidents    She 


20  MY  WAR  DIARY 

is  indefatigable,  there  all  day,  from  8  in  the  morn- 
ing till  8  at  night,  attending  to  everything,  send- 
ing off  bands  of  nurses  (her  own  daughter  with 
one  group  at  Rethel  on  the  frontier),  stores  of  all 
kinds,  and  organising  work  in  all  the  arrondisse- 
ments  of  Paris.  She  looks  very  tired,  and  yet 
this  is  only  the  beginning  of  the  war. 

I  wanted  to  speak  to  her  about  starting  an 
ouvroir  with  one  of  my  friends,  Mrs.  Mygatt,  who 
has  lived  a  great  deal  in  Paris,  and  is  very  anxious 
to  give  some  help  to  the  poor  women  of  France. 
Mr.  Mygatt  will  give  us  rooms  in  his  office  in  the 
Boulevard  Haussmann,  and  we  can  dispose  of 
one  or  two  competent  maids,  sewing  women,  and 
sewing-machines;  but  we  must  find  out  what  are 
the  things  most  needed,  and  get  patterns  of 
shirts,  calecons,  bandages,  etc.  I  waited  some 
time,  but  couldn't  see  Mme.  d'Haussonville;  shall 
try  another  day. 

People  are  in  and  out  of  our  house  all  day,  and 
we  hear  all  sorts  of  rumours.  The  papers  are  sen- 
sible; don't  have  so  many  foolish  stories,  and  the 
minimum  of  war  news.  The  Germans  have  had 
a  good  repulse  in  Belgium.  They  believed  with 
their  usual  arrogance  that  they  could  march 
straight  through  Belgium  directly  to  Paris,  make 
a  great  coup  at  once,  knock  Paris  to  pieces,  get 
large  sums  of  money,  then  turn  their  attention 
to  the  Russians,  who  are  slow  in  moving  and  have 
great  distances  to  cover  and  few  railways.     They 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         21 

never  dreamed  that  Belgium  would  resist,  or  that 
Great  Britain  would  fight  against  them.  The 
defense  of  Liege  has  been  heroic,  their  forts  hold- 
ing out  splendidly. 

I  have  a  letter  from  Charlotte  this  morning; 
all  well,  and  living  as  quietly  as  possible.  They 
have  suppressed  all  luxuries  in  their  daily  life : 
black  coffee,  afternoon  tea,  cakes,  etc.  If  any  one 
is  hungry  in  the  afternoon,  they  can  have  dry 
bread  and  cheese;  but  they  only  have  two  good 
meals  a  day,  not  always  meat.  All  day  long  mili- 
tary trains  pass,  soldiers  always  gay  and  cheering. 
As  soon  as  they  will  give  me  a  pass  I  will  try  and 
get  down  there  and  take  them  some  provisions, 
but  as  one  can  only  take  a  hand-bag  I  couldn't 
carry  much. 

There  is  a  certain  detente  in  the  air  since 
Britain's  attitude.  At  some  of  the  cafes  in  the 
Champs  Elysees  people  were  sitting  outside  taking 
their  ap6ritifs  and  reading  the  papers.  The  city 
is  pavoise;  flags  are  flying  everywhere,  quite  a 
number  of  British  flags  with  the  Tricolour,  a  few 
Russian.  Gery  Cullum  walks  about  the  streets 
all  day  with  a  Tricolour  cockade  and  a  small  Brit- 
ish flag  pinned  on  his  coat.  He  says  lots  of  peo- 
ple come  up  to  him  and  shake  hands  violently — 
one  man  saying  to  him  the  other  day:  "C'est 
beau,  mon  vieux,  la  France  et  l'Angleterre  en- 
semble; rien  ne  tiendra  contre  nous!"  Dieu  le 
veuille!    It  is  such  an  iniquitous  war,  has  been 


22  MY  WAR  DIARY 

so  forced  upon  us  that  I  can't  think  we  can  be 
beaten.  Even  for  Germany's  masses  of  troops, 
the  coalition  of  France,  Great  Britain,  and  Russia 
must  be  a  formidable  one. 

Friday,  7th  August. 

The  Belgians  are  fighting  splendidly.  Then- 
great  forts  at  Liege,  with  the  guns  encased  in 
steel  turrets  as  on  battleships,  are  making  havoc 
with  the  Germans,  who  didn't  expect  any  resist- 
ance. The  French  have  not  taken  any  part  as 
yet,  but  troops  are  being  hurried  to  the  Belgian 
frontier. 

I  have  a  telegram  from  Francis  this  morning, 
from  Octeville,  a  suburb  of  Cherbourg.  He  says 
he  is  well  and  busy. 

Daisy  Cameron  came  in  before  breakfast,  and 
we  went  to  the  Affaires  Etrangeres  to  see  if  we 
could  get  any  news  of  her  niece  Mary  whom  she 
had  left  at  Heidelberg  with  a  German  govern- 
ess. We  saw  the  Chef  de  Cabinet,  who  told  us 
no  communication  was  possible  with  Berlin.  I 
thought  that  as  the  American  Ambassador  there, 
Mr.  Gerard,  had  taken  on  the  French  interests, 
he  would  probably  have  means  of  communica- 
tion with  Paris ;  but  he  said  there  was  no  way  of 
getting  at  Berlin.  She  might  get  information, 
perhaps,  through  Rome.  If  Mr.  Herrick  would 
telegraph  the  United  States  Ambassador  in  Rome, 
he  could  communicate  with  his  colleague  in  Ber- 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         23 

lin,  but  that  France  could  do  nothing.  Daisy- 
was  very  worried  as  she  was  afraid  the  child  with 
her  governess  might  have  left  Heidelberg,  trying 
to  join  her  in  Paris;  and  of  course  a  German 
would  never  have  been  allowed  to  enter  France. 

Saturday,  August  8th. 

I  went  to  the  bank  yesterday,  which  was 
crowded  with  Americans,  all  wanting  money,  and 
the  bank  giving  very  little.  They  did  give  me 
some,  but  no  gold.  Then  I  went  to  the  annex  of 
the  Croix  Rouge  in  the  rue  Charron,  to  see  about 
starting  an  ouvroir,  giving  work  to  the  hundreds  of 
women  who  are  utterly  destitute — but  I  don't  find 
any  one  very  competent.     I  will  try  another  day. 

Daisy  came  in  late  and  we  walked  down  to  the 
American  Embassy,  where  the  American  commit- 
tees, Repatriation  and  Ambulance,  seem  to  be 
sitting  in  permanence.  The  Ambassador  told 
me  the  news  was  excellent:  the  French  had  ad- 
vanced in  Alsace  and  had  taken  Miilhausen.  He 
thinks  the  Germans  are  going  to  be  badly  beaten. 

Sunday,  9th  August. 
Good  news  this  morning.  French  at  Miilhau- 
sen enthusiastically  received  by  the  entire  popula- 
tion. Germans  driven  off  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  and  pursued  by  French  cavalry.  No 
names  given  of  killed  and  wounded.  The  loss  of 
life  must  have  been  terrific.     I  went  to  the  Amer- 


24  MY  WAR  DIARY 

ican  church,  which  was  crowded.  They  sang 
splendidly  the  hymn  "O  God  of  Battles !"  which 
rather  upset  me.  Of  course  all  one's  nerves  are 
on  end. 

I  went  to  breakfast  with  the  Carrolls.  It  was 
so  cool  and  peaceful  sitting  on  their  terrace  open- 
ing on  the  garden,  with  birds  singing,  and  the 
scent  of  flowers  all  around  us,  that  it  was  hard  to 
believe  a  fierce  battle  was  raging  just  over  the 
frontier.  They  live  in  an  old-fashioned  part  of 
Paris  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  a  quiet  street, 
few  houses  and  big  gardens,  very  little  passing 
at  any  time — nothing  to-day.  Charlie  Carroll  is 
very  busy  on  the  Repatriation  Committee  sending 
Americans  home,  and  she  is  on  the  Executive 
Committee  for  the  buying  of  material  for  the 
American  Ambulance. 

The  Ambassador,  in  the  name  of  his  compa- 
triots in  Paris,  has  offered  to  the  French  Govern- 
ment an  ambulance  entirely  equipped  with  a  com- 
petent staff  of  surgeons,  doctors,  and  nurses,  and 
sufficient  funds  to  run  the  whole  thing.  They 
have  taken  the  Lycee  Pasteur,  a  large  new  build- 
ing at  Neuilly,  near  the  American  Hospital,  under 
whose  supervision  the  ambulance  is  put.  The 
building  is  enormous,  high,  large  rooms  and  courts, 
plenty  of  air  and  space.  They  can  put  in  two 
thousand  beds,  but  are  beginning  with  five  hun- 
dred. It  is  a  most  generous  contribution,  and  is 
much  appreciated  by  the  French. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         25 

I  stayed  at  home  all  the  afternoon  as  it  was 
very  hot.  We  had  a  great  many  people  at  tea- 
time.  They  only  got  tea  and  pain  de  menage — 
no  such  luxuries  as  cakes  in  war-time.  There  is 
little  news.  Very  angry  letters  from  Americans 
and  English  stranded  in  Germany,  who  are  being 
outrageously  treated.  Jusserand,  who  is  here  on 
leave,  wants  to  get  back  to  America.  He  and  his 
wife,  Joe  Stevens  and  other  friends  are  at  Havre, 
hoping  to  sail  on  the  France.  They  have  been 
there  for  several  days,  but  the  steamer  does  not 
dare  venture  out,  as  German  battleships  are  still 
cruising  in  the  Atlantic. 

Jusserand  was  afraid  the  enormous  German 
population  in  America  would  create  a  hostile  feel- 
ing toward  France;  but  I  don't  think  he  need 
worry  himself  on  that  score.  The  Germans  them- 
selves are  rapidly  alienating  all  sympathy  from 
the  United  States.  Every  one  is  speculating  and 
commenting  on  the  attitude  of  the  Austrian  Am- 
bassador, Count  Szecsen,  who  still  remains  here, 
must,  I  suppose,  until  Austria  declares  war  upon 
France,  or  sends  troops  to  reinforce  the  Germans 
before  Li&ge,  which  apparently  she  is  doing 
quietly,  without  saying  anything.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  realise  his  position. 

He  went  to  dine  at  the  Union  Club  the  other 
night  and  asked  Lahovary,  the  Roumanian  Min- 
ister to  dine  with  him.  They  had  just  sat  down 
when  a  message  came  to  Lahovary  saying  some 


26  MY  WAR  DIARY 

one  wanted  to  speak  to  him  upon  urgent  business. 
When  he  got  out  of  the  dining-room,  he  found 
several  of  the  clubmen  who  told  him  he  must  tell 
the  Ambassador  to  go.  They  didn't  want  to  be 
rude  to  him,  or  make  a  scandal,  but  they  would 
certainly  turn  their  backs  on  him,  and  not  speak 
to  him.  Lahovary  went  back  to  the  Ambassador, 
saying,  "I  have  a  disagreeable  communication 
to  make  to  you,"  and  gave  his  message.  Szecsen 
was  furious,  said:  "I  thought  I  was  with  gentle- 
men !"  "So  you  are,"  said  Lahovary,  "but  with 
French  gentlemen  who  are  unwilling  to  meet  you 
at  present,  and  would  prefer  you  should  leave  the 
club  quietly  and  not  make  a  scandal.",-,  He  was 
most  unwilling  to  go — wanted  Lahovary  still  to 
dine  with  him,  which  he  absolutely  refused  to  do. 
He  departed  at  last  in  a  rage,  saying:  "Where  can 
I  get  my  dinner?  I  can't  run  the  risk  of  being 
insulted  in  a  restaurant ! "  He  is  still  here;  wants 
to  oblige  France  to  give  him  his  passports,  as  that 
would  force  Italy  to  move,  France  being  the  ag- 
gressor. But  France  will  not  be  quite  so  foolish 
as  that.  I  think  when  the  Italians  move,  which 
they  must  do  eventually,  it  will  not  be  against  us. 
They  are  most  outspoken,  even  the  Embassy  men. 
In  their  hearts  all  Italians  must  hate  Austria; 
her  rule  in  Italy  was  so  cruel. 

Loubat  came  to  see  us  late  before  dinner,  and 
was  very  interesting.  He  was  here  in  1870,  saw 
all  the  troops  go  oil,  many  of  them  already  hostile 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         27 

to  the  Emperor  before  starting,  and  even  those 
who  were  not,  so  nervous  and  excited  and  doubt- 
ful of  their  generals — soldiers  as  well  as  officers — 
and  the  talk  at  all  the  clubs  so  violent  and  wild. 
Now  the  whole  of  France  marches  like  one  man. 
No  excitement,  no  cries  of  "A  Berlin!"  the  men 
grave,  but  cheerful,  the  women  splendid,  saying 
good-bye  to  their  men,  without  a  tear,  and  encour- 
aging them  to  the  last  moment ;  but  all  feel  what 
a  terrible  struggle  is  before  us. 

Monday,  August  10th. 
It  has  been  frightfully  hot  all  day.  There  was 
very  little  war  news  this  morning.  All  the  move- 
ments of  troops  have  been  kept  very  quiet.  It 
is  awful  to  wake  up  every  morning  with  such  a 
weight  on  one's  heart.  The  stillness  of  the  city, 
too,  is  so  awful,  so  unlike  Paris.  Very  little  pass- 
ing, no  loud  talking  or  laughing,  not  a  sound  of 
singing  or  whistling  since  the  declaration  of  war. 
I  would  give  anything  to  hear  the  workmen  sing- 
ing and  chaffing  in  the  big  house  they  are  build- 
ing opposite  to  us,  but  there  are  none  left;  all 
have  gone  to  the  front.  The  only  note  of  gaiety 
are  the  boy  scouts  attached  to  the  "Red  Cross," 
who  breakfast  every  morning  at  the  cafe*  on  the 
corner;  they  range  from  twelve  to  sixteen,  look  as 
lively  as  possible,  such  eager  young  faces  and  so 
important.  I  often  stop  and  talk  to  them  and 
ask  for  news. 


28  MY  WAR  DIARY 

I  tried  again  to-day  at  the  annex  of  the  Red 
Cross  to  get  some  models  of  garments  for  the  sick 
and  wounded,  and  to  know  what  were  the  things 
most  needed,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know  any- 
thing. They  sent  me  from  one  room  to  another. 
Everywhere  ladies  were  working,  rolling  bandages 
and  hemming  handkerchiefs.  They  asked  me  if 
I  had  come  to  work,  and  would  I  hem  handker- 
chiefs; that  I  declined  absolutely.  Really  not 
worth  while  to  waste  my  time  that  way.  Any 
school-child  would  have  been  delighted  to  earn 
a  few  sous  and  hem  all  they  wanted.  When  I 
was  finally  told  I  had  better  see  the  Mayor  of  my 
arrondissement  and  ask  for  permission,  my  tem- 
per and  patience  gave  way,  and  I  expressed  myself 
vigorously  to  the  very  mild  old  gentleman — a 
tapissier  in  ordinary  times,  who  was  the  last  per- 
son I  was  sent  to.  It  is  really  too  bad,  at  such  a 
time,  the  amount  of  talking  and  writing  and  red 
tape  generally  one  must  go  through  before  ac- 
complishing anything.  I  wanted  their  models, 
because  some  of  the  shirts  that  have  been  sent  to 
the  hospitals  could  never  have  been  put  on  any 
human  figure — the  neck  so  small  that  the  head 
of  a  new-born  babe  could  hardly  pass,  and  long, 
narrow  sleeves  that  hung  like  strings  from  the 
shoulders. 

However,  one  must  not  criticise,  for  the  Red 
Cross  is  doing  splendid  work,  and  they  must  be 
driven  crazy  with  all  the  inane  offers  of  service 
they  receive. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         29 

We  had  a  good  many  visits  this  afternoon — 
some  of  the  ladies  connected  with  the  American 
ambulance.  Forty  ladies  meet  at  the  Embassy 
every  day.  Mrs.  Herrick  is  president,  and  she 
will  certainly  get  all  the  money  she  wants.  People 
are  all  so  fond  of  her.  She  came  in  late,  looking 
rather  exhausted,  but  revived  with  a  cup  of.  tea; 
said  the  meetings  were  very  tiring,  so  many  sug- 
gestions and  opinions,  and  forty  women  all  talk- 
ing at  once. 

Charlie  Forbes  and  Gery  Cullum  dined  with  us. 
We  warned  them  they  would  have  a  very  frugal 
repast.  No  one  has  anything  else  these  days — 
but  they  didn't  mind.  They  had  dined  last  night 
at  one  of  the  big  cafes  on  the  boulevards — dinner 
very  good,  a  great  many  people ;  diplomatists  and 
strangers.  At  9  o'clock  two  policemen  appeared, 
saying  the  doors  must  be  closed.  No  one  made 
any  objection ;  all  trooped  out  into  the  street  and 
walked  about  a  little.  At  1  o  o'clock  the  boulevard 
was  as  deserted  and  quiet  as  any  provincial  town. 

The  troops  have  been  sent  off  very  quietly, 
either  at  night  or  by  the  underground  railway. 
We  have  seen  no  regiments  marching  through  the 
streets,  flags  flying,  music  playing,  followed  by 
an  enthusiastic,  excited  crowd.  I  have  never 
seen  Paris  so  calm. 

Tuesday,  August  nth. 
Another  very  warm  day — no  particular  news  in 
the  paper.     The  allied  armies  seem  to  have  joined 


3o  MY  WAR  DIARY 

forces,  but  no  big  battle  has  taken  place  yet.  It 
is  awful  to  think  of  these  two  great  armies  facing 
each  other,  and  of  the  terrific  loss  of  life  there 
will  be  when  the  fighting  really  begins.  I  don't 
know  how  the  German  Emperor  dared  take  such 
a  responsibility. 

The  Austrian  Ambassador  has  finally  departed. 
It  seems  the  Austrian  explanations  were  vague 
when  our  Foreign  Office  asked  if  Austrian  troops 
were  moving  quickly  to  Alsace  to  reinforce  the 
Germans.  War  is  not  declared  between  the  two 
countries,  but  there  is  a  diplomatic  rupture. 
Both  Ambassadors  in  Paris  and  Vienna  recalled. 
I  imagine  Szecsen  was  glad  to  go.  His  position 
cannot  have  been  very  agreeable  these  last  days. 
Mr.  Herrick  takes  over  the  Austrian  interests. 
He  will  have  his  hands  full,  as  he  already  has  the 
Germans  and  all  his  own  people.  He  is  quite 
equal  to  the  task,  is  perfectly  quiet  and  prudent, 
and  is  winning  golden  opinions.  America  is  lucky 
to  have  had  such  a  man  here  at  this  time. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  the  Germans  have  man- 
aged to  put  every  one  against  them.  I  fancy  the 
sympathy  for  France  in  the  United  States  has 
been  a  disagreeable  surprise  for  them. 

I  have  no  further  news  of  Francis,  merely  his 
first  telegram  from  Octeville;  if  he  had  been  moved 
I  think  he  would  have  told  us.  Charlotte's  letters 
come  pretty  regularly.  She  writes  they  are  all 
well  but  a  little  short  of  provisions.     I  hope  I 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         31 

shall  be  able  to  get  down  to  Mareuil  for  two  days, 
now  that  the  mobilisation  is  nearly  over. 

Wednesday,  August  12  th. 

Another  very  hot  day;  still  no  fighting.  I  don't 
know  if  the  delay  is  good.  It  gives  the  French 
more  time  to  concentrate  their  forces,  and  also 
for  Russia  to  advance. 

I  made  another  attempt  to  get  patterns  this 
morning,  and  finally  succeeded.  I  went  to  the 
principal  office  of  the  Croix  Rouge  and  saw 
D'Haussonville  who  did  all  I  wanted,  and  sent 
Henry  Outrey  (who  is  working  at  the  Red  Cross 
until  he  is  called  to  the  colours)  with  me  to  the 
"lingerie."  There  I  found  the  Duchesse  de  Tr6- 
vise  and  some  ladies  whom  I  knew,  and  got  all 
sorts  of  patterns  and  measures,  carrying  off  a  shirt 
which  I  promised  to  send  back  at  once,  as  they 
had  very  few.  They  told  me  they  particularly 
wanted  old  linen  sheets  for  bandages  and  com- 
presses, also  new  cotton  sheets  and  pillow-cases. 
H.  had  some  old  sheets  and  we  sent  them  off 
at  once. 

I  went  about  5  to  the  Embassy  to  pick  up 
Daisy  Cameron,  who  has  just  taken  charge  of  the 
ouvroir  for  the  American  Ambulance.  Baronne 
Castelli — an  American  born — has  put  her  apart- 
ment in  the  Champs  Elysees  at  the  disposal  of 
the  American  Ambulance;  and  Daisy  is  going  to 
organise  her  work-rooms.     The   Embassy   gates 


32  MY  WAR  DIARY 

and  doors  were  open.  Quantities  of  people  about 
inside  and  outside.  I  waited  in  the  gallery  as 
Daisy  was  still  in  the  Committee-room.  I  saw 
George  Munroe  and  Fred  Allen,  both  of  whom 
are  working  hard  at  the  relief  fund  to  send  back 
Americans.  Herman  Hayes,  too,  I  saw  in  the 
distance.  The  bankers  are  doing  all  they  can 
to  relieve  the  money  pressure,  and  have  a  hard 
time,  as  of  course  every  one  is  short  of  funds. 
The  war  came  so  suddenly. 

George  Munroe  has  his  son  at  the  front. 

Daisy  and  I  walked  down-town  late.  Every- 
thing quiet;  almost  all  the  shops  shut;  on  many 
of  them  a  notice  posted  up:  "Fermee;  le  propri6- 
taire  est  sous  les  drapeaux."  We  went  as  far  as 
Colombin's,  where  we  had  a  cup  of  tea,  cakes,  and 
sandwiches  as  usual.  There  were  quite  a  num- 
ber of  people — almost  all  Americans.  The  cais- 
si&re  told  us  they  had  several  tables  taken  every 
day  for  luncheon.  I  was  astonished  to  see  cakes. 
Our  baker  and  others  in  our  quarter  since  four  or 
five  days  make  no  more  cakes,  nor  even  rolls 
and  croissants.  We  have  pain  de  menage,  which 
is  a  little  tough  but  more  healthy,  I  fancy,  than 
finer  bread.  We  don't  mind  it;  one  gets  accus- 
tomed to  everything. 

"Les  journees  passent  et  se  ressemblent."  The 
heat  is  awful,  but  they  say  it  is  better  for  the  sol- 
diers than  rain  or  damp.  Great  heat  dries  up  the 
microbes.     We  have  got  our  work-room  started, 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         33 

and  it  will  be  a  great  help  to  us  to  feel  we  are 
doing  something.  Nothing  but  occupation  of 
some  kind  can  keep  up  the  courage  of  the  women 
who  sit  at  home  and  wait.  Mrs.  Mygatt  and  I 
went  to  the  Croix  Rouge  and  had  a  long  wait  at 
the  lingerie,  carrying  off  a  bundle  of  shirts,  belts, 
bandages  of  every  possible  shape. 

I  had  a  letter  from  Francis  this  morning  from 
Octeville.  His  regiment  is  doing  garde-c6te,  and 
he  is  secr6taire-cycliste  to  the  Colonel;  carries 
despatches.  He  says  he  has  a  very  good  room 
and  bureau.  As  soon  as  the  Mayor  heard  his 
name,  he  put  himself  at  his  disposal  and  does  all 
he  can  to  make  him  comfortable.  They  are  on 
a  hill  with  a  splendid  view  of  the  port  and  sea, 
and  delightful  sea  air.  They  have  a  very  good 
mess  (the  sous-ofEciers).  A  chef  from  Paris, 
from  the  Cercle  Volney,  looks  after  them.  He 
says  their  journey  from  Caen  was  one  long  marche 
triomphale;  they  were  showered  with  fruit,  wine, 
flowers,  and  cigarettes  all  along  the  route. 

Saturday,  August  15th, 
Assumption  Day. 

It  is  generally  such  a  gay  day  here;  bells  ring- 
ing, churches  open,  everybody  out  in  holiday  at- 
tire. This  morning  it  is  quiet  enough.  No  one 
feels  very  cheerful  with  this  awful  war-cloud  hang- 
ing over  us,  and  the  dread  of  what  the  morrow 
may  bring,  when  those  two  great  armies  meet.     I 


34  MY  WAR  DIARY 

enclose  a  scathing  sonnet  to  the  Kaiser,  published 
by  the  Times. 

I  have  been  all  the  afternoon  at  the  ouvroir. 
We  are  beginning  very  modestly,  but  hope  to  get 
more  funds  as  we  go  on.  We  have  two  capable 
women,  Mrs.  G.'s  maid  and  a  dressmaker,  out  of 
work  now,  who  buys  our  stuff  much  cheaper  than 
we  can,  and  cuts  out  shirts  and  dresses;  also  two 
sewing-machines.  There  is  quite  a  pile  of  flannel, 
cotton,  coarse  linen,  and  old  shirts  on  the  tables. 
I  worked  all  the  afternoon  basting  hems  of  shirt- 
tails  for  the  machine.  I  certainly  have  not  done 
anything  of  that  kind  for  thirty-eight  years,  and 
I  was  quite  tired  when  I  got  home. 

They  asked  me  at  the  Croix  Rouge  what  I 
wanted  to  do:  had  I  any  aptitude  medicale,  or 
any  experience  of  nursing  ?  I  answered  promptly : 
"None  whatever;"  knew  nothing  about  sickness, 
and  hated  a  sick-room,  but  of  course  I  would  do 
what  I  could,  and  offered  to  start  an  ouvroir 
with  my  friends,  which  they  accepted  with  joy. 

We  had  an  interesting  woman  this  afternoon, 
an  Alsatian,  a  trained  nurse,  who  will  come  and 
work  with  us  until  she  is  ordered  off  to  some  hos- 
pital; she  looks  tired  to  death,  has  already  been 
nursing,  but  won't  hear  of  resting;  also  a  Belgian 
couple,  who  will  work  regularly  with  us.  They 
are  so  proud  of  their  country,  as  they  well  may  be, 
and  France  should  be  eternally  grateful  to  the 
Belgians,  as  that  first  repulse  of  the  Germans  at 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         35 

Liege  has  given  them  time  to  get  up  their  troops, 
and  has  also  made  a  moral  effect  which  has  been 
splendid  for  us.  If  we  had  had  a  first  defeat  at 
the  frontier  (which  we  all  expected),  there  might 
have  been  a  panic  in  the  country.  They  read  us 
interesting  letters  from  their  parents  who  are  in  the 
country  in  Belgium,  about  three  miles  from  Liege. 
Their  three  children  are  with  them,  all  wildly 
excited  about  the  war  and  against  the  Germans. 
They  write  they  will  certainly  have  the  Germans 
at  their  place,  if  they  advance  at  all  into  the 
country,  and  that  his  father  was  exhorting  the 
children  and  servants  to  be  perfectly  civil  to  them 
when  they  came.  They  can't  help  having  them, 
and  any  rudeness  might  make  serious  complica- 
tions for  them,  and  end  in  his  being  shot,  as  those 
barbarians  make  short  work  of  any  who  stand  in 
their  way.  What  a  wicked  war  in  these  days  of 
education  and  Christianity ! 

Charlie  Forbes  came  to  tea  with  us.  Mrs. 
Mygatt  gives  us  tea  always,  and  the  slices  of 
bread  and  butter  made  of  the  perfectly  plain 
pain  de  menage  (which  some  of  our  pampered 
servants  don't  eat  in  ordinary  times)  were  very 
good.  Charlie  was  most  amiable — let  us  try  all 
our  shirts,  hospital  and  convalescent,  on  him. 
We  were  particularly  asked  to  make  the  arm- 
holes  wide,  and  the  sleeves  loose.  He  is  such  a 
big  man  that  what  went  on  easily  over  his  coat 
was  quite  large  enough  for  any  one. 


36  MY  WAR  DIARY 

One  of  the  party  read  aloud  the  curious  proph- 
ecy of  Madame  de  Thebes,  that  appeared  in  her 
calendar  at  the  beginning  of  this  year,  and  An- 
nunzio's  splendid  Ode  pour  la  Resurrection  Latine. 
I  wonder  if  Italy  will  move. 

I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Herrick  after  leaving  the 
work-room,  and  happily  found  her  alone,  not 
surrounded  by  her  forty  women  of  the  American 
Ambulance  Committee.  She  says  her  Ambas- 
sador is  very  well,  very  busy,  and  very  tired, 
but  very  pleased  with  the  way  in  which  all  his 
American  friends  have  stood  by  him  and  helped 
him. 

Daisy  Cameron  came  in  before  dinner,  much 
relieved  at  having  had  news  of  Mary,  who  is  safe 
in  Berlin  with  the  Gerards  at  the  Embassy.  I 
didn't  go  out  this  morning  except  for  a  few  min- 
utes to  the  Croix  Rouge,  to  ask  if  we  must  do 
anything  about  putting  their  flag  on  our  building, 
but  I  found  no  one  who  could  tell  me.  They  are 
overwhelmed  with  business,  one  hardly  likes  to 
ask  a  question. 

I  went  to  the  ouvroir  about  2.30  and  met 
Olive  Tiffany  coming  in.  She  is  a  capital  worker ; 
said  she  would  do  anything  that  was  wanted,  so 
she  was  instantly  given  a  pile  of  shirts  and  asked 
to  make  buttonholes,  three  in  each.  They  sug- 
gested I  should  sew  on  buttons,  which  I  quite  re- 
fused to  do.  After  all,  people  must  work  accord- 
ing to  their  limitations,  and  I  preferred  basting 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         37 

hems.     I  think  I  must  have  basted  miles  of  shirt- 
tails  so  far. 

Comtesse  de  Franqueville  (nee  Lady  Sophia 
Palmer)  came  in  at  tea-time;  so  pleased  that 
France  and  England  were  fighting  together.  She 
had  been  standing  in  the  crowd  near  the  British 
Embassy  to  see  Sir  John  French  arrive;  said  he 
was  most  enthusiastically  received,  and  looked 
very  well  and  soldierly  in  his  tenue  de  campagne. 
They  are  going  to  have  ten  thousand  sheep  in  the 
park  of  their  Chateau  de  la  Muette,  just  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  Bois;  and  a  large  flock  has  just  been 
put  on  the  race-course  at  Longchamp,  cows  on 
the  Auteuil  course,  and  an  immense  enclosure  in 
the  Bois,  railed  off  for  oxen.  I  suppose  these  are 
necessary  precautions,  but  at  the  present  moment 
we  are  feeling  not  the  slightest  inconvenience 
from  the  state  of  siege.  The  markets  are  supplied 
as  usual,  and  no  increase  of  prices.  One  day 
chickens  were  dear — a  very  small  one,  frs.  14 — 
just  double  the  ordinary  cost.  We  declined  it, 
and  I  fancy  everybody  else  did  the  same,  as  they 
have  returned  now  to  their  normal  price. 

Monday,  August  17  th. 
We  are  still  living  our  quiet  life  in  a  dead  city. 
News  this  morning  of  fresh  French  successes. 
Germany  repulsed  on  the  Meuse,  many  drowned 
in  the  river,  and  we  hope  it  is  true,  and  wish 
there  are  many  more  Meuses  and  many  more 


38  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Germans  drowned  in  them — which  is  an  awful 
state  of  mind  to  be  in  for  a  Christian  woman. 
But  the  sooner  the  war  is  over  and  the  more 
Germans  disappear  from  the  face  of  the  earth, 
the  better  for  civilisation  and  the  whole  of 
Europe. 

I  walked  about  the  Trocadero  and  near  the 
Tour  Eiffel  this  morning,  and  there  one  realises 
that  the  situation  is  serious.  There  are  cannon 
and  soldiers  in  the  Trocadero  grounds,  and  a 
strong  guard  and  mitrailleuses  at  the  Tour  Eiffel. 
All  the  sentries  with  fixed  bayonets  and  looking 
very  grim.  I  went  as  usual  to  the  ouvroir,  which 
begins  to  look  very  businesslike.  One  of  our 
workers,  a  small  dressmaker,  had  been  applying 
to  various  maids  and  small  people  she  knew,  and 
had  got  a  pile  of  fairly  good  linen  sheets  for  one 
franc  apiece.  Of  course  they  ought  to  be  given 
at  such  a  time,  but  every  one  is  glad  to  earn  a 
little  money.  There  are  so  many  women  and 
girls  thrown  out  of  employment  by  all  the  big 
shops  shutting,  and  business  generally  stopped, 
that  there  is  great  misery  already,  and  the  war 
not  really  begun.  The  wives  and  mothers  of 
men  sous  les  drapeaux  are  being  looked  after  by 
the  Government,  but  it  is  only  private  initiative 
that  can  help  the  others. 

It  is  pathetic  to  see  the  little  midinettes,  gen- 
erally so  smiling  and  well-dressed,  often  with  a 
little  bunch  of  violets  on  their  coats,  looking  so 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         39 

sad  and  pale  and  hungry.  And  one  knows  that 
they  are  hungry,  but  they  don't  complain. 

The  Americans  living  in  Paris  are  most  gener- 
ous, but  they  all  have  to  look  first  after  their  own 
compatriots  stranded  here  with  no  money  and  no 
shelter — and  have  organised  besides  their  ambu- 
lance on  a  grand  scale. 

Our  teas  are  rather  amusing;  every  one  con- 
tributes something.  Mme.  del  M.,  our  Belgian 
friend,  brought  a  pot  of  strawberry  jam  to-day, 
I  a  plain  cake  made  at  home,  some  one  else  a 
loaf  of  English  bread,  which  makes  better  tartines 
than  thick  pain  de  m6nage.  Every  one  else  does 
the  same  thing. 

Henry  O.,  who  is  working  at  the  War  Office, 
dines  often  with  the  Jean  Sallandrouzes  and  brings 
a  ham  or  a  round  of  cold  beef  with  him.  Palma 
Ruspoli  brought  a  rumour  which  she  said,  however, 
was  not  confirmed  at  the  Embassy,  that  there 
had  been  an  awful  naval  battle  in  the  North  Sea. 
Eight  British  battleships  sunk,  twenty-eight  Ger- 
mans, and  a  great  number  of  the  merchant  ships 
sunk.  There  is  no  mention  of  it  in  to-night's 
papers. 

I  am  writing  late,  11  o'clock.  The  street  is 
perfectly  quiet,  not  a  sound  nor  a  light;  I  should 
not  think  there  was  anybody  left  in  the  street 
except  on  the  entresol  opposite,  where  we  see  a 
light  every  night,  which  looks  friendly.  There 
are,  however,  many  people  in  town.     Quite  a 


4o  MY  WAR  DIARY 

number  of  autos  were  running  up  and  down  the 
Champs  Elysees  yesterday  when  I  came  home  at 
7  o'clock. 

Wednesday,  August  19th. 

We  lose  almost  the  count  of  the  days,  they  go 
on  so  monotonously.  We  pore  over  the  papers, 
but  they  give  so  little  news.  The  weather  is  en- 
chanting, bright,  beautiful  summer  days;  rather 
cooler  this  morning.  Report  says  that  the  Ger- 
man Crown  Prince  charged  with  the  Imperial 
Guard  at  Dinant  and  was  badly  wounded,  but  it 
was  not  confirmed  in  the  official  communique  this 
afternoon.  The  War  Office  issues  a  bulletin  every 
afternoon  at  5  o'clock,  and  somebody  always  comes 
in  to  tell  us  the  last  news. 

Mr.  Herrick  and  Austin  Lee  dined  this  evening. 
Both  men  are  most  interesting.  Our  repast  was 
frugal — war  rations,  a  soup,  piece  of  beef,  salad, 
a  vegetable  and  a  compote — not  exactly  an  ambas- 
sadorial banquet.  Fruit  is  plentiful  and  cheap. 
Mr.  Herrick  said  the  young  American  army  men 
who  were  out  here,  either  for  the  manoeuvres  or 
instruction  in  some  of  the  French  Corps  d'Armee, 
were  astounded  at  the  order  and  quickness  with 
which  the  mobilisation  was  carried  out — also  that 
they  had  been  very  intelligent  and  useful  in  help- 
ing him  handle  the  mass  of  Americans  who  con- 
gregate every  day  at  the  Chancellerie,  begging  to 
be  sent  home.  The  American  Ambulance  is  going 
splendidly;  they  get  all  the  money  they  want. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         41 

I  had  a  long  letter  from  Charlotte  this  evening, 
the  first  in  many  days.  Of  course,  being  on  the 
line  of  the  Est,  she  sees  a  great  deal  of  the  move- 
ment of  troops,  and  writes:  "Tuesday,  we  went 
to  La  Ferte-Milon  to  give  the  soldiers  flowers. 
They  love  it,  and  all  the  carriages  are  covered 
with  branches  and  flowers  given  to  them.  The 
soldier  Madeleine  gave  the  bouquet  to,  kissed 
her,  then  me,  and  then  my  mother  on  both 
cheeks.  I  gave  my  bouquet  to  a  nice  little  young 
soldier  who  was  quite  touched  by  it,  so  much  so 
that  when  the  train  started,  he  called  an  employ 6 
of  the  station  and  asked  him  to  give  me  4de  sa 
part  sa  medaille  de  la  Sainte  Vierge,'  a  very  pretty 
one  in  silver.  I  think  it  was  so  sweet  of  that 
young  man,  and  so  delicately  done.  I  shall  keep 
it  as  a  souvenir  'd'un  inconnu.'  I  gave  my  cotisa- 
tion  (subscription)  for  the  drinks  of  the  soldiers; 
they  made  a  collection  in  the  town  to  buy  ab- 
sinthe. They  put  a  litre  of  absinthe  into  thirty 
litres  of  water,  and  the  young  women  and  girls  of 
La  Ferte-Milon  give  it  to  the  soldiers  in  their  tin 
cups  when  the  train  stops.  As  they  passed  every 
twenty  minutes  for  eight  days,  we  were  very  busy. 
The  men  are  delighted  to  drink  something  cool. 
Some  of  them  had  travelled  twenty-four  hours  in 
those  horse- vans,  poor  creatures.  One  lot  of  pris- 
oners has  already  passed  here,  Uhlans. 

"We  have  very  little  news  from  the  war,  the 
Petit  Journal  being  the  only  paper  we  receive. 


42  MY  WAR  DIARY 

It  is  quite  difficult  to  get  about,  no  trains,  no  car- 
riages, as  all  the  horses  have  been  taken,  and  we 
have  to  have  a  laissez-passer  every  time  we  stir 
out  of  Mareuil.  We  cannot  even  go  on  the 
Meaux  or  Fleury  roads.  They  are  very  severe 
because  of  the  railway-line,  as  espions  have  already 
tried  several  times  to  blow  up  bridges  and  tunnels. 

"We  work  hard  for  the  Croix  Rouge — shirts, 
bandages,  sheets,  etc.  I  have  organized  a  'gar- 
derie  d'enf ants'  to  allow  the  mothers  to  go  to  the 
fields  for  the  harvest;  and  we  have  in  the  court- 
yard every  day,  from  8  to  10,  and  from  i  to  6, 
fifty  or  sixty  children.  I  assure  you  it  is  a  piece  of 
work,  and  I  hope  it  counts  as  charity.  'Monsieur 
le  Cure '  rings  every  night  at  8  o'clock  the  special 
prayers  for  time  of  war,  and  we  all  go.  The  boys 
are  flourishing — much  excited  when  the  trains 
pass.  I  put  the  newspaper  every  day  on  the  gar- 
den wall,  near  the  gate,  so  that  people  who  have 
no  paper  can  read  the  news.  Ever  so  many  have 
thanked  me." 

Friday,  August  21st. 

I  went  this  morning  to  the  service  of  the  Eng- 
lish church  for  their  naval  and  military  forces  now 
engaged  in  war.  It  was  very  solemn,  almost  all 
women,  some  oldish  men.  Two  boy  scouts  dis- 
tributed the  leaflets  with  the  special  forms.  Mr. 
Cardew  asked  every  one  to  think  of  the  sailors 
when  singing  the  hymn  "For  those  in  peril  on  the 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         43 

The  papers  are  always  interesting  with  all  the 
various  letters  and  experiences  of  unfortunate 
travellers — British  or  Americans  trying  to  get 
home.  It  is  lucky  that  the  French  are  a  non- 
travelling  race.  I  don't  know  what  would  have 
happened  if  four  or  five  thousand  French  people 
had  been  travelling  in  Germany  or  Switzerland. 

Charlotte  came  up  yesterday,  looking  very 
well.  We  went  to  the  Croix  Rouge  to  see  if 
Comtesse  d'Haussonville  would  like  to  have  an 
ambulance  at  Crouy.  They  can  offer  one  hundred 
beds  with  their  sheets  and  blankets  in  a  big  old 
chateau  with  a  large  garden  and  terrace,  but  no 
staff  except  some  volunteer  nurses,  and  no  money 
to  run  it.  Mme.  d'Haussonville  told  us  at  once 
that  want  of  funds  was  the  great  difficulty;  that 
they  had  been  offered  quantities  of  houses  and 
beds,  but  without  money  to  run  the  thing,  they 
could  not  be  accepted.  The  President  of  the 
Croix  Rouge,  the  Marquis  de  Vogii6,has  just  issued 
an  appeal,  which  is  placarded  everywhere,  asking 
every  one  to  contribute  what  they  can,  money, 
clothes,  blankets,  anything. 

We  were  at  the  ouvroir  all  the  afternoon,  and 
things  are  gradually  getting  into  shape.  But 
again  we  are  stopped  by  want  of  funds.  We  don't 
want  to  work  ourselves,  but  give  work  to  hundreds 
of  women  who  are  absolutely  penniless,  not  only 
soldiers'  wives,  but  quantities  of  young  women 
and  girls  left  with  no  work  and  no  money.     Nearly 


44  MY  WAR  DIARY 

all  the  big  shops  and  business  establishments  are 
closed.  I  saw  two  nice-looking  girls  this  morn- 
ing, premieres  at  one  of  the  big  dressmakers  of 
the  rue  de  la  Paix,  who  told  me  they  had  just  one 
franc  between  them.  It  is  always  the  same  story 
with  that  class  in  Paris.  They  spend  all  they 
earn  on  their  backs.  Three  or  four  of  them  club 
together  and  have  a  good  room,  and  they  live  au 
jour  le  jour,  putting  nothing  aside  for  illness  or 
dark  days.  In  our  rooms  we  could  easily  employ 
sixty,  perhaps  more,  women,  give  them  fr.  1.50  a 
day,  and  one  good  meal.  They  could  work  all 
day,  making  clothes  for  the  sick,  the  wounded, 
and  the  refugees — these  last  are  no  small  item 
now  in  the  Paris  population. 

Charlotte  carried  off  various  patterns,  as  she 
has  also  a  work-room  at  Mareuil.  She  will  surely 
have  many  refugees  as  we  are  so  near  the  Bel- 
gian frontier.  We  stopped  at  one  or  two  work- 
rooms on  our  way  up  to  the  rue  de  la  Pompe,  to 
ask  about  prices,  meals,  hours,  etc.,  as  all  this 
sort  of  work  is  new  to  us,  and  everywhere  heard 
the  same  story — the  quantity  of  women  begging 
for  work. 

Daisy  Cameron  came  to  dinner,  and  was  most 
amusing  with  the  account  of  her  work-room  for 
the  American  Ambulance.  She  has  volunteered 
as  nurse,  and  I  am  sure  she  should  be  an  excellent 
nurse — she  has  seen  so  much  illness  and  so  many 
operations  in  her  own  family. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         45 

Saturday,  August  22nd. 

Charlotte  lunched  with  the  Tiffanys  at  their 
hotel.  She  left  all  her  bundles,  a  fine  collection, 
with  me,  and  I  went  to  get  her  to  take  her  to  the 
train;  I  could  hardly  get  in  the  cab,  and  I  don't 
know  now  how  the  two  of  us  managed  it ;  but  we 
did.  It  looked  strange  to  see  that  busy  Gare 
de  l'Est  almost  deserted,  entirely  under  military 
control — soldiers  on  all  the  platforms.  They 
were  much  interested  in  all  Charlotte's  bundles, 
asked  her  if  she  was  going  to  the  front,  as  she 
had  on  the  Red  Cross  badge. 

Some  of  the  empty  carriages  that  have  come 
back  from  the  frontier  were  rather  amusing,  with 
all  sorts  of  rough  drawings  in  chalk  on  the  out- 
side. Various  heads  of  "Guillaume"  with  enor- 
mous mustaches,  and  rather  a  pretty  girl's  head 
on  one — "ma  gosse"  (my  girl,  in  village  patois).  I 
stayed  till  the  train  started.  I  think  the  two  days 
in  town  rather  cheered  up  Charlotte.  She  saw 
a  good  many  people,  and  heard  more  news,  such 
as  it  was.  It  is  rather  an  austere  life  at  Mareuil 
in  war-time,  and  she  feels  a  certain  responsibility 
with  the  children  and  the  people  of  the  village, 
who  all  come  to  her.  If  her  mother  were  not  with 
her  I  should  have  to  go  to  Mareuil — and  yet  I 
cannot  leave  H.  altogether.  Charlotte  is  very 
brave,  but  misses  her  husband  so  awfully,  and 
has  so  little  news. 

I  went  straight  to  my  ouvroir  and  worked  all 


46  MY  WAR  DIARY 

the  afternoon.  Olive  brought  me  an  attractive 
woman,  one  of  the  New  York  Times  correspondents. 
She  interested  herself  at  once  in  our  work,  and 
between  us  we  wrote  an  appeal  to  some  of  the 
American  papers,  which  she  cabled  over  at  once. 
So  many  Americans,  perfect  strangers  to  me, 
names  I  didn't  know  at  all,  wrote  to  me  from 
the  west — Kentucky,  Wisconsin,  Arizona,  about 
my  book  on  France — Chateau  and  Country  Life 
in  France — saying  they  had  read  it  with  so  much 
interest,  that  I  thought  they  might,  perhaps, 
come  to  our  assistance.     This  is  what  I  wrote: 

APPEAL 

"So  many  Americans  have  seemed  interested 
"in  what  I  wrote  of  France  and  my  life  there  in 
"happier  days,  that  I  think  they  may  be  inclined 
"to  help  her  in  her  hour  of  dire  need.  We  women 
"of  France  must  do  something  for  the  hundreds 
"of  women  who  are  left  absolutely  penniless, 
"their  sons  and  husbands  at  the  war,  they  with- 
"out  any  resources — as  almost  all  the  big  shops 
"and  business  establishments  have  closed— I, 
"with  some  of  my  friends,  am  organizing  a  work- 
room where  we  give  fr.  1.50  and  one  meal  a  day 
"to  any  woman  who  comes.  They  work  all  day, 
"making  garments  for  the  sick  and  wounded,  for 
"which  we  furnish  the  material.  We  have  many 
"more  applicants  than  we  can  employ,  and  are  in 
"desperate  need  of  funds.     Can  you  help  us?" 

I  hope  I  shall  get  some  money. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR        47 

Monday,  August  24th. 

These  are  awful  days.  There  is  a  terrific  bat- 
tle going  on  in  Belgium.  Yesterday,  one  was  ill 
with  apprehension;  the  day  was  warm  and  try- 
ing; the  very  air  seemed  heavy  with  presenti- 
ments. I  went  to  the  English  church.  The 
special  prayers  for  time  of  war  bring  it  home  to 
one.  As  on  the  other  day,  two  boy  scouts  were 
handing  books  and  the  plate.  I  stayed  in  all 
the  afternoon.  We  had  a  great  many  visits — 
some  of  them  most  depressing,  the  men  more 
than  the  women.  Such  rumours:  that  we  were 
being  badly  beaten;  nothing  would  prevent  the 
Germans  from  entering  Paris;  the  scum  of  the 
population  would  rise  in  a  frenzy  if  the  fighting 
went  on  without  any  news;  that  the  Government 
would  go  to  Bordeaux ;  that  the  German  Zeppelins 
would  drop  bombs  all  over  Paris  and  set  fire  to 
the  city;  and  though  my  own  common  sense  told 
me  not  to  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  all  the 
rumours,  one  can't  keep  being  a  little  impressed  by 
them.  It  was  a  relief  to  have  one  of  the  Dutch 
secretaries,  Baron  de  G.,  come  to  dinner  quietly 
with  us,  who  told  us  not  to  mind  any  such  reports; 
that  at  his  legation  the  report  was:  " Situation 
grave  but  satisfactory." 

While  we  were  talking,  all  the  windows  open, 
we  heard  cavalry  passing,  and  rushed  to  the  bal- 
cony, as  did  every  one  else  in  the  street,  but  it 
was  only  a  detachment  of  the  Garde  Republicaine, 
which  patrols  Paris  every  night.    All  our  nerves 


48  MY  WAR  DIARY 

are  on  edge,  and  yet  one  must  be  perfectly  cool 
and  keep  up  the  courage  of  the  people.  We  didn't 
hear  any  news  at  the  ouvroir,  but  every  one  looks 
grave,  and  all  throw  themselves  upon  the  special 
editions  of  the  papers  that  came  all  day  with 
nothing  in  them. 

The  communications  from  the  front  are  very 
brief,  and  have  become  much  more  so,  as  the 
battle  rages. 

Wednesday,  August  26th. 

Still  no  news,  and  our  days  are  exactly  alike. 
I  had  a  letter  from  Francis  this  morning  from 
Octeville.  He  is  very  busy,  but  says  the  life  is 
monotonous.  He  had  seen  a  convoy  of  German 
prisoners  arrive.  They  were  received  in  perfect 
silence — not  a  word,  nor  a  sound.  The  General 
commanding  at  Chatenay  had  given  strict  orders 
to  treat  them  with  respect.  They  were  soldiers, 
doing  their  duty  to  their  country,  as  we  were  to 
ours.  Francis  talked  later  to  one  or  two  of  them ; 
said  they  were  famished,  and  not  at  all  enthusiastic 
about  the  war. 

I  went  to  see  Mme.  Sallandrouze  on  my  way 
home.  She  had  come  up  for  two  days  from 
Mareuil;  looked  exhausted.  She  had  been  five 
hours  on  a  journey  which  usually  takes  two.  The 
people  on  the  train  were  fourteen  in  their  com- 
partment, and  a  solid  mass  of  people  with  their 
valises  and  bundles,  standing  in  the  couloir.     She 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         49 

would  like  to  come  to  Paris.  They  say  there  will 
certainly  be  bands  of  Uhlans  all  over  our  part  of 
the  country,  and  there  are  wild  rumours  of  auto- 
mobiles blindes  dashing  at  full  speed  through  the 
villages,  shooting  any  one  they  meet.  We  are 
only  three  hours  from  the  frontier,  and  she  can't 
take  the  responsibility — would  never  forgive  her- 
self if  anything  happened  to  the  children. 

We  are  all  under  the  impression  of  the  brutali- 
ties of  the  Germans  in  Belgium,  who  in  one  of 
the  villages  shot  a  boy  of  seven  years  who  aimed 
his  toy  gun  at  them. 

Our  boys  play  about  the  garden  all  day  with 
their  flags  and  guns,  shouting  "Vive  Farmee," 
and  "Vive  la  France."  If  they  heard  cavalry 
passing  on  the  road,  they  would  certainly  dash 
out  of  the  gates,  and  anything  might  happen. 
The  Germans  would  not  hesitate  to  shoot  down 
two  boys  shouting  "Vive  la  France."  I  think 
they  had  better  come  up.  I  will  try  and  go  down 
there  on  Saturday. 

The  new  ministry  which  is  announced  this 
morning,  has  been  an  excellent  move.  It  is  cer- 
tainly the  moment  to  sink  all  political  feeling,  and 
call  upon  the  best  men  of  all  parties  to  come  to 
the  front.  I  think  it  will  give  the  country  great 
confidence,  especially  Millerand  at  the  War  Office. 
The  army,  which  criticised  his  first  appointment  to 
the  War  Office  some  time  ago,  ended  by  liking 
him  very  much.     Though  a  civilian,  he  under- 


So  MY  WAR  DIARY 

stood  the  French  soldiers,  and  knew  how  to  keep 
up  their  military  enthusiasm.  The  Radicals  have 
done  much  harm  with  their  anti-military  cam- 
paign. 

Thursday,  August  27th. 
It  was  cool,  a  lovely  morning.  I  went  to  the 
bank  with  the  Mygatts,  to  discuss  our  Relief 
Fund — as  Harjes  will  receive  any  money  that  is 
sent.  I  rather  demurred  at  the  name:  "Mme. 
Waddington  Relief  -Fund/ '  It  seemed  so  very 
personal.  But  the  gentlemen  said  as  I  had  made 
a  direct  appeal  in  my  own  name,  the  money  must 
be  sent  to  me.  I  shall  be  very  grateful  for  any- 
thing I  get,  as  the  misery  is  going  to  be  awful — 
not  only  the  quantities  of  Frenchwomen  without 
work,  but  all  the  Belgian  refugees.  One  of  my 
friends  saw  a  lot  of  them  the  other  day,  all  hud- 
dled together  in  a  court  of  the  Chemin  de  Fer  du 
Nord.  He  said  they  looked  exhausted,  the 
women  carrying  their  babies,  the  men  all  old, 
well  past  middle-age,  carrying  the  bundles,  with 
all  sorts  of  things  in  them — evidently  put  together 
in  a  hurry  at  the  last  moment — pots,  boots,  some 
clothes,  bird-cages  (one  man  had  a  saddle  from 
which  he  absolutely  declined  to  be  parted),  per- 
fectly useless  things.  People  were  bringing  food 
and  wine  to  them,  milk  for  the  babies,  which  they 
accepted  most  gratefully.  They  didn't  complain ; 
seemed  stunned  by  the  appalling  misfortune  which 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         51 

had  come  upon  them  so  suddenly.  Some  of  them 
were  perfectly  prosperous  farmers  with  large, 
comfortable  houses,  plenty  of  beasts  of  all  kinds. 
The  Germans  took  away  the  animals,  burned  the 
houses;  they  saw  them  in  flames  behind  them 
when  they  were  flying  for  their  lives.  It  is  too 
horrible  to  think  of  the  misery  that  pretty,  pros- 
perous little  country  is  going  through. 

I  am  getting  a  little  nervous  about  the  chil- 
dren. I  am  fairly  brave,  but  can't  help  being 
impressed  with  all  I  hear.  Mareuil  is  directly 
on  the  line  from  Meaux  to  Rheims,  and  a  household 
of  women  would  be  helpless  against  an  invasion 
of  such  barbarians. 

Friday,  August  28th. 

Francis'  birthday.  We  sent  him  a  telegram. 
Have  heard  nothing  from  him  for  some  days. 

I  dined  last  night  with  H.,  an  ex-Conseiller 
General  of  the  Oise.  He  asked  me  to  come — 
"pas  un  diner,  une  reunion  de  dames,  en  toilette 
d'ambulance."  Of  course  no  one  dresses  in  these 
days.  I  put  on  my  red  cross  medal  over  my 
plain  black  dress,  and  walked  over  (it  is  only 
two  blocks  off)  in  the  rain,  under  an  umbrella.  I 
found  four  or  five  men — two  Conseillers  d'Etat,  an 
ex-Prefet,  one  of  the  Directors  of  the  Banque  de 
France,  and  a  young  woman,  daughter  of  one  of 
the  Conseillers,  whose  husband  is  at  the  front. 
The  Director  of  the  Bank  had  just  come  back  from 


52  my  war  Diary 

Rennes,  where  he  had  deposited  a  large  amount 
of  gold — I  dare  not  say  how  many  millions — in 
the  bank.  The  youngest  Conseiller  d'Etat  had 
also  just  returned  from  a  tournee,  a  mission  he 
had  made  in  the  north  of  France,  with  one  of  the 
generals.  He  said  that  the  condition  of  the  men, 
physically  and  morally,  was  excellent,  and  the 
food  supply  abundant  and  marvellously  carried 
out.  They  had  their  two  meals  a  day,  quite  hot 
and  good. 

They  all  spoke  most  warmly  of  the  ministry; 
said  they  were  doing  splendid  work,  and  also  of 
Poincare;  say  he  is  wonderful,  very  cool,  knows 
all  about  everything;  where  each  corps  d'armee 
is — that  of  course — and  every  regiment,  and  who 
commands  it;  has  no  doubt  as  to  the  final  result, 
but  thinks  France  will  lose  half  her  army.  It  is 
awful  to  think  of  the  mournings — a  whole  genera- 
tion wiped  out.  .  .  . 

Sunday,  August  30th. 
Still  the  same  beautiful  weather.  When  one 
thinks  of  what  France  ought  to  be  at  this  time, 
with  a  splendid  harvest — all  the  people  in  the 
country,  men,  women,  and  children  working  in 
the  fields,  coming  in  at  night  so  pleased  with  their 
day's  work,  it  is  terrible  to  feel  that  the  country 
is  being  devastated  by  the  Germans.  I  was  mis- 
erable all  day  yesterday;  I  had  quite  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  down  to  Mareuil  for  twenty-four  hours 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         53 

and  bring  up  the  children,  but  everybody  told  me 
I  mustn't  go ;  it  would  only  complicate  things  for 
them,  make  one  more  person  in  the  train;  so  I 
sent  a  telegram  to  Charlotte,  telling  her  to  come 
at  once.  Jean  Sallandrouze  sent  one  to  his 
mother,  saying  the  same  thing.  He  came  in 
just  before  dinner  to  say  he  had  just  had  a  tele- 
gram from  Mareuil,  saying  they  would  start  this 
morning,  but  would  probably  arrive  late  in  the 
evening,  as  there  was  "du  retard  dans  le  ser- 
vice." 

I  went  to  the  American  church;  there  were  not 
many  people.  One  young  woman,  just  in  front 
of  me,  was  crying  almost  all  the  time.  I  suppose, 
like  all  the  rest  of  us,  she  had  some  dear  ones  at 
the  front.  I  didn't  go  out  again  until  late,  and 
then  went  with  the  Mygatts  to  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, which  has  been  transformed  into  a  whole- 
sale provision  camp.  The  two  race-courses,  Au- 
teuil,  Longchamp,  filled  with  cows  and  oxen, 
sheep  at  the  Tir  aux  Pigeons,  and  quantities  of 
hay  and  food  in  great  stacks.  There  were,  as 
usual  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  many  people  dining 
al  fresco  on  the  grass — whole  families,  from  grand- 
mothers to  babies,  sitting  on  the  grass  and  making 
their  evening  meal;  but  there  were  no  games,  no 
tennis,  no  football,  nor  any  gaiety.  Every  one 
looked  grave. 

I  stopped  at  the  rue  d'Artois  to  see  if  there  was 
any  news  of  the  children,  but  they  hadn't  come. 


54  MY  WAR  DIARY 

The  Segurs  dined  with  us.  They  had  come  to 
Paris  for  his  Conseil  General,  which  is  usually 
held  at  Melun,  but  in  these  agitated  days  it  was 
judged  more  prudent  to  have  it  in  Paris,  and  they 
met  in  the  Palais  Bourbon  (Chamber  of  Deputies). 
They  were  both  rather  sad,  having  between  them 
eighteen  nephews  and  grand-nephews  at  the  front, 
and  no  news  of  any.  Segur  is  always  so  moderate 
in  all  he  says.  He  has  no  sympathy  with  the 
Republic,  but  thinks  the  Government  is  doing 
splendidly. 

About  10  o'clock  L.  de  R.  came  in  and  told 
me  that  the  Mareuil  party  had  arrived  well,  but 
exhausted,  having  left  Mareuil  at  7  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  only  arrived  at  Paris  at  10  o'clock  at 
night.     It  was  a  great  relief  to  me. 

Monday,  August  31st. 
It  has  been  again  a  very  hot  day,  and  I  am 
worn  out  to-night  with  heat  and  emotion.  At 
9.30,  before  I  was  dressed,  Mme.  Jean  S.  came 
to  see  me,  to  say  that  they  were  all  starting  before 
12  for  Orleans  in  autos,  en  route  for  Tours.  I 
went  straight  over  to  the  rue  dArtois  where 
Charlotte  had  gone  to  her  mother's  apartment. 
Ours  in  the  rue  de  la  Pompe  is  shut  up;  it  would 
not  have  been  worth  while  to  have  opened  it  for 
one  night,  and  Mme.  Sallandrouze  could  take 
them  in,  and  found  them  all  exhausted,  but  so 
pleased  to  be  out  of  the  righting  zone. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         55 

They  were  told  Saturday  evening  that  they 
must  leave  at  once.  La  Ferte-Milon,  the  place 
next  to  us,  was  being  evacue,  and  there  were  re- 
ports of  bodies  of  Uhlans  at  Laon.  They  all 
worked  hard  Saturday  night,  hiding  silver,  valu- 
ables, etc.,  and  started  at  7  Sunday  morning. 
When  the  train  drew  into  the  station  from  Rheims, 
crowded  with  wounded  and  refugees,  they  didn't 
want  to  take  them  at  once.  But  the  chef  de 
gare,  who  knows  us  well,  insisted,  and  they  got 
in,  scattered  about  the  train — the  two  boys  and 
their  nurse  in  a  fourgon  (baggage-wagon)  with 
some  soldiers — the  others  in  third-class  carriages 
— anywhere.  They  had  long  waits  all  along  the 
route,  being  shunted  all  the  time,  to  make  way 
for  military  trains.  At  Meaux  the  Red  Cross 
ambulance  was  stationed  at  the  gare,  all  the 
women  occupying  themselves  with  the  wounded, 
and  giving  food  and  clothes  to  the  refugees. 
They  gave  the  children's  Nanna,  who  is  an  excel- 
lent nurse,  a  bowl  of  water  and  a  towel,  and  asked 
her  to  wash  some  of  the  wounded  men.  The 
boys  were  so  tired  that  Charlotte,  who  is  a  Red 
Cross  herself,  asked  for  a  cup  of  milk  for  each  of 
them.  The  woman  said  to  her:  "We  shouldn't 
give  it,  Madame;  your  children  look  strong  and 
well.  We  ought  to  keep  the  milk  for  the  babies 
and  little  ones."  C.  couldn't  insist,  but  the 
woman  was  evidently  sorry  for  the  two  little  boys 
and  gave  one  cup  of  milk  for  the  two. 


56  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Charlotte  thought  she  had  better  go  with  her 
mother:  Mme.  de  R.,  who  has  a  place  near  Tours, 
would  take  them  in  for  a  week  or  ten  days,  and 
she  might  then  perhaps  join  Francis  at  Cher- 
bourg. I  quite  agreed,  as  I  should  not  have 
liked  to  keep  them  in  Paris.  They  came  here  to 
say  good-by  to  H.,  the  boys  much  excited  at 
all  they  had  seen  and  heard.  "You  will  never 
see  Mareuil  again,  Danny;  those  wicked  Germans 
are  going  to  burn  it."  Perhaps,  but  I  don't  feel 
as  if  that  was  before  us,  and  was  rather  comforted 
with  what  Percy  Tiffany  said — that  Mareuil,  being 
a  stone  house,  would  be  difficult  and  long  to  burn. 
A  band  of  Uhlans  would  not  stay  long  enough. 

I  went  back  with  them  to  the  rue  d'Artois, 
and  saw  them  all  start  at  12  punctually,  in  four 
large  autos.  The  chauffeurs  said  they  would  get 
them  to  Orleans  at  6.  They  couldn't  bring  any 
baggage,  and  had  a  wonderful  collection  of  bags 
and  bundles.  I  was  delighted  to  see  them  go. 
Poor  Mme.  S.  looked  quite  white  and  exhausted. 
It  had  been  a  great  responsibility  for  her,  as 
Francis  left  his  wife  and  children  in  her  charge, 
and  I  couldn't  leave  Henrietta. 

Tuesday,  September  1st. 
It  is  again  very  warm  to-day,  and  we  hear  all 
sorts  of  rumours,  that  a  great  battle  is  going  on  at 
La  Fere,  at  St.  Quentin.     The  war  news  is  so  in- 
significant and  I  suppose  it  is  right  not  to  give 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         57 

details;  but  it  is  awful  to  think  of  battles  going 
on,  and  not  to  know  where  any  one  is. 

I  was  all  the  afternoon  at  the  ouvroir.  We 
are  sending  off  a  pile  of  shirts  and  bandages  to 
Meudon,  where  Mme.  Marchand  has  the  direction 
of  an  ambulance.  Our  Belgian  friends  are  awfully- 
down.  No  news  of  their  children ;  many  of.  their 
friends'  chateaux  burned,  and  probably  their  own. 
They  always  bring  bad  news;  reduced  Mme.  G.'s 
maid  to  tears,  saying  that  Sedan  (her  town)  was 
burned,  also  Mezieres.  I  tried  to  reason  with 
her  as  it  is  not  possible  that  something  would  not 
have  filtered  through  the  lines  if  two  such  im- 
portant places  had  been  destroyed. 

Palma  M.  came  as  usual  to  work  with  us,  and 
told  us  the  Government  was  leaving  that  evening 
for  Bordeaux,  all  the  Diplomatic  Corps  going 
with  them.  I  am  afraid  it  will  frighten  people. 
Their  Ambassador,  Tittoni,  goes.  He  need  not,  as 
he  is  not  representing  a  puissance  belligerante, 
but  he  prefers  to  go  and  Ruspoli  remains.  Palma 
will  stay  with  him. 

We  walked,  quite  a  band  of  us,  the  Mygatts 
and  Olive  Tiffany,  down  the  Boulevard  Hauss- 
mann,  as  far  as  Potin's,  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
Just  as  we  got  to  the  place  we  heard  two  or  three 
loud  explosions,  then  several  rifle-shots.  Every- 
body rushed  out,  and  we  saw  a  German  aeroplane 
with  German  flags  disappearing  over  the  barracks 
of  La  Pepiniere.     There  was  great  excitement  in 


58  MY  WAR  DIARY 

the  streets,  or  rather  curiosity,  but  no  one  seemed 
at  all  nervous.  A  policeman  told  us  they  had 
thrown  their  bombs  on  the  Gare  St.  Lazare,  but 
not  much  harm  was  done — one  or  two  people 
hurt,  no  one  killed.  It  is  a  curious  sensation,  all 
the  same,  to  be  walking  about  a  quiet  city  in  the 
waning  evening  light,  with  the  possibility  of  a 
bomb  falling  on  your  head.  I  must  confess  it 
made  me  a  little  nervous.  This  was  the  first  one 
I  had  really  seen  and  heard.  They  have  been 
coming  for  several  days. 

After  dinner  the  Ambassador  and  Mrs.  Henick 
came  to  see  us,  on  their  way  to  the  station  to  say 
good-by  to  their  colleagues  who  are  starting  at 
10  o'clock  for  Bordeaux.  The  President  left  this 
afternoon  by  automobile  Mr.  Herrick  says  the 
situation  is  grave,  but  he  doesn't  think  the  Ger- 
mans will  get  into  Paris.  He  intends  to  remain 
and  see  the  end  of  the  war. 

Wednesday,  September  2nd. 
I  went  to  the  Red  Cross  this  morning,  but  could 
not  find  Outrey.  I  wanted  to  ask  him  what  he 
thought  about  our  going  away.  It  is  so  difficult 
to  know  where  to  go.  There  doesn't  seem  to  be 
any  room  anywhere.  Orleans,  Bordeaux,  Caen 
crowded — the  Prefet  of  Calvados  has  put  an  offi- 
cial communication  in  the  paper  from  Caen,  say- 
ing that  there  is  literally  not  a  bed  to  be  had  at 
Caen.     People  are  sleeping  at  the  station,  and  in 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         59 

the  courts  of  some  of  the  public  buildings.  Marie 
suggests  that  we  should  go  to  Les  Aulneaux,  a 
small  hamlet  in  the  department  of  La  Sarthe — 
hardly  a  village,  though  it  has  got  a  mayor — 
where  her  daughter  Fernande  is  schoolmistress 
and  adjointe  to  the  mayor.  She  has  a  nice  house 
with  a  big  court  and  garden,  and  two  rooms, 
where  she  could  make  us  very  comfortable — 
about  four  hours  from  Paris.  I  talked  it  over  with 
H.,  who  does  not  want  to  leave  Paris. 

I  had  a  line  from  Charlotte,  from  Tours.  They 
made  their  journey  very  easily  to  Orleans,  arriving 
before  6.  But  their  night  was  trying.  No  rooms 
in  any  of  the  h6tels,  nor  yet  chez  l'habitant  (the 
peasant  or  workman).  They  finally  got  a  small 
room  in  a  hotel,  where  Mme.  Sallandrouze,  Char- 
lotte, and  Madeleine  slept.  The  jeune  menage 
(Jean's)  in  a  dressing-room.  Maggie  (the  Eng- 
lish nurse)  with  the  two  boys,  and  three  Sallan- 
drouze servants  slept  in  one  room,  on  mattresses 
on  the  floor,  with  ten  other  people — the  boys,  of 
course,  enjoying  it  madly.  Everything  a  delight- 
ful novelty.  Frank  said  to  Henrietta  on  Monday: 
"It's  such  fun  to  be  travelling  in  a  fourgon  (bag- 
gage-wagon) with  soldiers;  you  would  like  it." 
They  had  got  to  Tours,  and  C.  was  leaving  at  once 
with  the  children  for  Cherbourg,  to  be  with 
Francis.  If  only  he  can  stay  there,  but  they  are 
moving  Territorials  to  the  front. 

I  went  with  Mr.  Herrick  in  the  afternoon  to  the 


60  MY  WAR  DIARY 

American  Ambulance.  They  have  taken  the  Ly- 
cee  Pasteur — a  fine  new  building  at  Neuilly,  and 
can  make  one  thousand  beds,  though  they  begin 
with  less.  All  the  arrangements  are  perfect,  large, 
high  rooms  and  corridors,  and  wide  courts.  I 
should  think  there  was  almost  too  much  space. 
The  work  will  be  heavy  on  the  nurses — all  Ameri- 
can and  British,  and  all  voluntary.  We  went  all 
over  the  building,  wards,  operating-rooms,  lingerie, 
kitchen.  There  were  no  wounded  yet,  and  they 
won't  have  any  until  the  fighting  near  Paris  be- 
gins. I  wanted  a  model  of  a  sort  of  loose,  sleeve- 
less flannel  jacket  I  saw  at  the  lingerie.  It  looked 
so  comfortable  for  men  sitting  up  in  their  beds; 
they  only  had  one,  and  would  have  lent  it  to  me, 
but  the  Ambassadress  said  she  would  send  me 
one  from  the  rectory,  where  they  sew  every  after- 
noon. 

I  found  the  ouvroir  very  blue.  The  Mygatts 
think  they  must  go.  He  has  business  in  America, 
and  is  afraid  he  might  not  get  out  of  Paris  if  he 
remained  much  longer.  Every  day  the  papers 
say  it  is  the  last  day  that  automobiles  can  get 
out  of  Paris — but  I  think  one  could  always  get  a 
pass.  They  don't  want  to  leave  us,  but  I  don't 
think  H.  can  undertake  a  long  journey  either 
in  an  auto  or  in  a  crowded  train.  Mygatt  had 
found  a  man  with  a  camion  (a  dray)  of  one  horse, 
which  would  take  him,  his  family,  and  his  bag- 
gage out  of  Paris.     They  have  their  auto  and 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         61 

have  found  a  good  chauffeur,  very  well  recom- 
mended. But  they  must  have  a  special  permit 
to  take  the  auto  out  of  Paris.  They  quite  saw- 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  H.  to  go  any 
distance  in  an  ordinary  cart;  and  as  we  decided 
it  was  out  of  the  question  for  us,  they  said  they 
would  propose  it  to  the  Tiffanys.  He,  too,  has 
business,  and  wants  to  get  out  of  Paris.  H. 
and  I  talked  it  over  after  dinner  without  arriving 
at  any  conclusion.  The  Tiffany s  came  in  the 
evening  to  say  they  were  going — so  our  friends 
seem  deserting  us. 

At  10  o'clock  a  line  came  to  me  from  the  Em- 
bassy, telling  Mygatt  the  Ambassador  would  see 
him  at  9  the  next  morning.  He  had  written  to 
the  Ambassador  to  ask  if  he  could  get  the  pass  for 
him,  so  I  sent  it  to  him  at  once. 

Thursday,  September  3rd. 
The  news  doesn't  seem  very  good  this  morn- 
ing. There  are  reports  that  the  Germans  have 
blown  up  the  Pontoise  bridge  over  the  Seine,  and 
that  we  have  done  the  same  at  Sevres.  I  don't 
feel  very  happy,  though  in  my  heart  I  don't  be- 
lieve the  Germans  will  come  into  Paris;  but  a 
cannonade  near,  with  possible  shells  falling  about 
promiscuously,  wouldn't  make  Paris  a  very  pleas- 
ant place  to  stay  in.  While  I  was  hesitating, 
Henry  Outrey  came  in  with  a  man  from  the 
Croix  Rouge,  who  had  helped  a  good  many  peo- 


62  MY  WAR  DIARY 

pie  to  get  away,  and  who  strongly  advised  our 
going — Henry,  too.  He  would  take  our  tickets 
and  places  in  the  last  special  train  that  leaves 
to-morrow.  I  consulted  H.,  who  didn't  want  to 
go  at  all,  was  not  in  the  least  nervous,  and 
dreaded  the  journey;  but  I  was  uncomfortable, 
and  we  decided  to  start  to-morrow  morning. 
Marie  had  written  and  telegraphed  to  her  daugh- 
ter that  we  might  perhaps  come.  We  couldn't 
take  any  baggage — merely  bags  and  bundles; 
but  the  man  said  he  would  send  our  trunks  on 
by  Grande  Vitesse,  with  the  Red  Cross  labels, 
which  always  pass  first. 

We  were  very  busy  all  the  afternoon,  making 
our  preparations.  We  only  packed  two  small 
trunks  as  we  did  not  think  we  would  need  much 
in  the  way  of  toilettes  at  Les  Aulneaux;  but  there 
were  things  to  be  put  away  in  the  apartment. 
We  leave  no  one  in  it,  but  the  Ambassador  will 
have  a  notice  put  on  the  door,  saying  it  is  in- 
habited by  Americans,  and  the  Concierge  has  also 
a  paper  to  show.  That  is  another  of  the  many 
small  things  Mr.  Herrick  has  done  to  help  such 
of  his  compatriots  as  were  obliged  to  stay  in 
Paris.  All  property  owned  by  or  let  to  Americans 
has  been  marked.  The  only  thing  he  couldn't 
do  was  to  put  such  marks  on  people  walking  about 
the  streets.  We  must  all  take  our  chance  with 
bombs. 

About  5  o'clock  I  walked  over  to  the  ouvroir 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         63 

in  the  Boulevard  Haussmann,  stopping  a  moment 
at  the  Church  of  St.  Philippe,  where  there  are 
always  women  kneeling  at  the  little  chapels. 
The  poor  ouvroir  looked  quite  deserted,  but  there 
were  piles  of  shirts,  calecons,  and  bandages  ready 
to  be  sent  off.  I  gave  the  woman  in  charge  direc- 
tions where  to  send  them.  She  has  some  money 
in  hand,  and  will  go  on  with  her  work  until  I 
come  back — I  hope  in  about  three  weeks.  Mme. 
Mygatt  must,  of  course,  be  longer  away,  as  she 
is  going  to  America. 

As  I  walked  home  the  streets  were  full  of  peo- 
ple looking  out  for  the  German  aeroplanes,  but 
none  had  appeared — either  the  Ambassador's  re- 
monstrances to  the  Government  at  home,  asking 
them  to  protest  at  Berlin  against  such  traitorous 
modes  of  warfare,  or  else  the  sight  of  the  French 
armed  aeroplanes  had  frightened  them.  The 
crowd  wasn't  at  all  nervous,  remarking  cheerfully : 
"Ah,  l'Allemand  ne  vient  pas  ce  soir;  on  l'aurait 
bien  recu  pourtant!"  ("The  German  doesn't 
come  this  evening;  he  would  have  been  well  re- 
ceived!") 

After  dinner  Outrey  came,  and  we  walked  down 
to  the  Embassy,  where  there  were  a  good  many 
people  coming  and  going — among  others,  Mr. 
Bacon,*  just  arrived.  He  belongs  to  the  Franco- 
American  Committee,  and  has  come  over  to  help 
us  in  whatever  way  he  can.     The  Ambassador  said 

*  Who  was  Ambassador  just  before  Mr.  Herrick. 


64  MY  WAR  DIARY 

there  was  no  later  news.  He  thought  we  had 
better  leave  Paris.  We  had  nothing  particular 
to  keep  us  here.  If  there  should  be  a  long  siege 
we  would  be  weeks  without  hearing  from  Francis, 
and  might  be  greatly  inconvenienced  by  want  of 
proper  food.  All  the  old  stories  of  the  horrors 
that  people  ate  in  '70  came  back  to  me — cats, 
rats,  and  glad  to  have  them ! 

It  was  perfectly  dark  when  we  came  out  of  the 
Embassy,  not  a  light  anywhere,  only  the  search- 
lights from  the  Tour  Eiffel  and  the  Automobile 
Club,  throwing  a  weird,  yellow  gleam  for  an  in- 
stant over  everything.  Our  street  absolutely 
black.     We  groped  our  way  along. 

Friday,  September  4th. 
We  are  quite  ready — start  at  12.30.  I  wonder 
what  sort  of  a  Paris  we  shall  find  when  we  get 
back — and  I  also  wonder  if  we  are  right  to  go. 
There  is  every  conceivable  rumour  in  the  air. 
Germans  at  St.  Germain — Paris  fortifications 
weak  on  that  side.  Paris  population  discouraged 
— yet  in  my  heart  I  don't  believe  the  Germans 
will  get  into  Paris. 

Dimanche,  6  septembre. 

I  leave  the  mairie  paper,  Dear;  by  that  you 

may  see  where  we  are.     It  all  seems  an  awful 

dream.     The  sudden  decision  to  leave  Paris  (I 

don't  know  now  if  we  did  right),  and  the  long, 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         65 

tiring  journey;  the  emotion  at  meeting  soldiers 
all  along  the  route — these  going  to  the  front, 
cheering  and  laughing,  promising  German  bullets 
and  sword-belts  to  the  women  who  crowded  around 
the  trains;  the  young  recruits,  just  twenty,  of 
the  class  of  this  year  called  out,  some  of  them 
looking  mere  children — they  too,  gay,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions — but  I  must  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning. 

H.  did  not  want  to  leave  Paris — dreaded  the 
journey,  and  is  convinced  the  Germans  will  never 
get  into  Paris  (and  I  think  she  is  right),  nor  ever 
near  enough  to  make  life  difficult;  however,  all 
our  friends  were  going.  Every  day  we  saw  the 
official  order  that  after  Friday  no  one  could  leave 
Paris  by  auto,  nor  perhaps  by  train.  Henry 
Outrey,  who  is  working  with  one  of  the  generals 
in  Paris,  and  also  at  the  Croix  Rouge,  advised  us 
to  leave  when  we  could;  he  would  arrange  for 
tickets,  places,  etc. 

I  can't  say  our  lives  had  changed  very  much 
since  the  declaration  of  war.  The  market  was 
just  as  good ;  we  could  get  everything  we  wanted 
and  no  dearer  than  in  ordinary  times,  in  fact, 
fruit  and  certain  vegetables  cheaper,  as  the  marai- 
chers  (market-gardeners)  wanted  to  sell  at  any 
price.  We  had  made  no  extra  provisions.  The 
street  was  gloomy  at  nights;  no  more  lights,  and 
hardly  any  one  in  the  houses,  we  the  only  people 
left  in  ours.     It  was  rather  sad  looking  down 


66  MY  WAR  DIARY 

from  our  balcony  on  the  perfectly  dark  street — 
empty,  no  sounds  of  life.  I  haven't  heard  a 
laugh  for  weeks,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  hear  the 
hoofs  of  the  horses  of  the  cavalry  patrol  which 
passes  every  night  in  the  rue  Francois  Ier.  I 
went  on  Wednesday  to  ask  Ambassador  Herrick 
for  a  pass  for  a  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  M.,  who  wanted 
to  get  his  auto  out  of  Paris,  and  he  advised  us  to 
go  to  the  Invalides,  where  the  military  governor 
of  Paris  lives,  and  show  his  card.  M.  came  for 
me  and  it  was  most  interesting  to  see  the  Espla- 
nade des  Invalides;  at  one  end  rows  of  autos 
drawn  up  which  are  being  requisitioned  for  the 
army,  quantities  of  officers  in  every  direction 
looking  very  busy,  but  perfectly  cheerful,  not- 
withstanding the  reports  that  we  had  heard  in 
the  morning  that  the  Pontoise  bridge  was  blown 
up  by  the  Germans,  and  the  Sevres  bridge  by  the 
French. 

We  waited  some  time  in  spite  of  the  Ambas- 
sador's letter  and  my  Red  Cross  badge,  but  were 
finally  received  by  the  officer  in  charge.  We  ex- 
plained that  we  wished  to  go  out  of  Paris  that 
afternoon  in  the  auto.  "In  what  direction,  Ma- 
dame?" "Chartres."  "Then  go  as  quickly  as 
possible."  "You  really  think  that?"  "I  have 
no  doubt  of  it  and  beg  you  will  go  at  once." 

Mr.  M.  had  already  made  his  arrangements  to 
leave.  He  had  chartered  two  drays  of  one  horse 
each  for  himself  and  his  family  (they  were  four) 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         67 

and  his  luggage,  from  which  he  would  not  separate 
himself,  as  he  was  going  to  America  and  hoped  to 
get  down  to  the  coast  eventually.  He  wanted  us 
to  take  his  auto,  but  it  had  not  been  going  very 
well  lately.  He  had  a  new  chauffeur  whom  he 
knew  nothing  about.  I  didn't  dare  venture,  we 
three  women  alone,  H.  hardly  walking;  so,  most 
reluctantly,  they  started  without  us.  We  de- 
cided to  leave  Friday  at  2  o'clock  by  special  train 
for  this  place,  stopping  the  night  at  Conches  or 
Laigle.  We  had  no  baggage,  only  what  we  could 
carry.  H.  was  very  plucky — didn't  want  to  leave 
Paris — but  I  was  nervous.  I  went  out  to  our 
ouvroir  late  Thursday  afternoon  to  give  certain 
last  instructions  to  the  woman  Mrs.  M.,  whom  I 
left  in  charge,  telling  her  to  send  the  garments 
which  were  already  made  to  one  or  two  ambulances 
where  we  had  promised  them,  and  left  her  some 
money  to  go  on  with  the  work.  After  dinner  I 
went  to  the  Embassy  to  say  good-bye  to  the  Her- 
ricks  in  case  they  should  leave  before  we  got 
back.  There  were  a  good  many  people  there 
coming  and  going.  Mr.  Bacon  just  arrived  to 
give  us  what  help  he  can  in  our  dark  days.  Mr. 
Warren  remains  too,  having  sent  his  wife  and 
children  home.  The  Americans  have  all  been  so 
sympathetic  to  France  since  the  war  began.  It 
must  be  a  most  disagreeable  surprise  for  the 
Kaiser,  one  of  the  many,  I  think,  that  are  in 
store  for  him.     Mr.  Herrick  is  wonderful,  quite 


68  MY  WAR  DIARY 

cool,  thinking  of  everybody,  and  not  sparing  him- 
self in  the  least,  working  as  hard  and  as  late  as 
any  of  his  secretaries.  Neither  French  nor 
Americans  will  ever  forget  what  he  has  done  here, 
and,  of  course,  his  remaining  in  Paris  has  reas- 
sured people  very  much. 

We  started  Friday  at  12  o'clock  from  the 
house  (the  train  started  at  2.15  from  the  Gare  St. 
Lazare).  Henry  came  to  take  us  to  the  station, 
and  I  really  think  our  bags  and  valises  were  very 
creditable  for  ladies  accustomed  to  travel  with 
everything  they  wanted.  We  took  as  little  as 
possible,  but,  of  course,  had  to  provide  for  the 
possibility  of  never  seeing  our  trunks  again. 
They — two  small  ones — were  sent  by  Grande 
Vitesse,  with  Red  Cross  labels,  as  all  Red  Cross 
baggage  goes  first.  The  Gare  St.  Lazare  was  a 
curiosity,  crowded  with  people,  quantities  of  chil- 
dren, and  the  most  remarkable  collection  of  bags, 
bundles,  and  household  goods  possible.  We  found 
already  six  people  in  our  carriage  and  a  child. 
Marie  was  obliged  to  take  a  place  in  a  second- 
class  carriage  (she  had  a  first-class  ticket)  to  be 
near  us.  It  is  a  long  pull  down  the  platform  to 
the  train.  H.  was  very  nervous,  but  got  along 
pretty  well,  sitting  down  whenever  she  could. 
We  hoped  to  get  to  Laigle  or  Conches  about  7 
o'clock,  but  telegraphed  for  rooms  at  both  places. 
Henry  recommended  us  warmly  to  the  people 
who  were  already  in  the  carriage.     There  were 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         69 

two  parties — father,  mother,  and  son  going  to 
Brittany,  and  a  young  mother,  child,  and  two 
grandparents  bound  for  Houlgate. 

We  started  at  2.15,  having  been  in  the  train 
since  12.30,  and  remained  in  it  till  8  the  next 
morning.  *  It  was  an  awful  journey.  We  changed 
our  direction  many  times,  backing,  turning  (at 
one  time  we  went  back  nearly  to  Versailles),  and 
waiting  at  the  stations  to  let  pass  the  military 
trains.  We  met  a  great  many — sometimes  sol- 
diers going  to  the  front,  sometimes  wounded,  and 
always  refugees  at  all  the  stations,  and  we  stopped 
at  every  one.  There  were  crowds  of  people  sit- 
ting on  their  valises,  or  on  the  floor,  clamouring 
for  seats.  I  was  afraid  we  would  have  many  more 
people  standing  (all  the  seats  were  taken)  in  our 
compartment,  but  we  managed  to  keep  them  out. 
At  Mantes  we  crossed  a  train  of  English  troops, 
and  very  well  and  fresh  and  young  they  looked 
in  their  khakis.  They  fraternised  instantly  with 
the  French  soldiers,  and  ran  across  the  track  to 
speak  to  us.  I  asked  them  where  they  came  from : 
from  the  frontier,  on  their  way  to  Rouen  for  pro- 
visions and  ammunition.  There  were  great  cheers 
and  waving  of  caps  and  handkerchiefs  when  the 
train  started.  As  the  evening  went  on  it  became 
most  evident  that  we  could  not  get  to  Conches 
or  Laigle  at  any  possible  hour,  and  we  all  made 
up  our  minds  that  we  must  stay  the  night  in  the 
train.     The   chefs   de   gare   looked  anxious  and 


70  MY  WAR  DIARY 

overworked  wherever  we  stopped,  but  were  per- 
fectly good-humoured,  as  was  everybody,  answer- 
ing civilly  and  as  well  as  they  could  to  all  the 
questions.  All  the  gares  were  occupied  by  sol- 
diers, and  the  line  guarded.  We  got  to  Dreux 
about  i  in  the  morning,  and  backed  and  stopped 
and  were  shunted  for  more  than  an  hour.  Some 
distracted  English  pursued  the  chef  de  gare  with 
questions.  "Monsieur,  quand  arriverons-nous  a 
Caen?"  "Ah,  Madame,  si  vous  pouviez  me  le 
dire  !"  They  told  us  the  town  was  full  of  people, 
no  room  anywhere,  people  sleeping  in  the  gare 
and  outside  on  the  platforms.  The  station  was 
as  animated  as  if  it  were  i  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Everybody  got  out,  even  the  twenty-months-old 
baby,  who  played  about  and  was  wide-awake  and 
perfectly  good.  Happily  it  was  a  beautiful,  warm 
summer  night,  with  a  full  golden  September  moon, 
the  harvest  moon.  That  makes  me  think  of  one 
of  the  numerous  prophecies  which  encourage  the 
people  in  these  awful  days: 

"Les  hommes  commenceront  la  moisson,  les 
femmes  la  finiront;  les  femmes  commenceront 
les  vendanges,  les  hommes  les  finiront."  ("The 
men  will  begin  the  harvest,  the  women  will  finish 
it;  the  women  will  begin  the  vintage,  the  men 
will  finish  it.") 

They  are  getting  in  the  harvest  quickly.  All 
along  the  route  women  and  children  are  working 
in  the  fields.    The  weather  is  so  beautiful,  warm 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         71 

and  dry  and  bright,  that  they  can  work  long  hours 
and  not  have  too  much  time  to  think  of  the 
mournings  that  surely  are  coming  to  some  of 
them. 

We  got  through  our  night  well.  The  baby  was 
perfectly  good,  slept  all  night  in  its  grandmother's 
arms.  She  could  hardly  move  her  arm  in  the 
morning.  The  poor  woman  was  so  warmly 
dressed  she  was  most  uncomfortable.  Like  all 
the  rest  of  us,  she  too  had  started  suddenly  and 
could  take  no  baggage,  so  she  had  two  extra 
petticoats  and  another  cloth  skirt  under  her  or- 
dinary dress  and  petticoat;  she  said  the  weight 
was  awful.  Everybody  shared  whatever  she  had, 
water,  biscuits,  chocolate,  but  none  of  us  were 
hungry.  At  Evreux,  where  we  waited  a  long 
time,  a  train  went  off  with  soldiers  to  the  front, 
all  singing  the  "Marseillaise,"  and  laughing  and 
cheering.  Some  of  the  Red  Cross  nurses  were 
on  the  quai,  but  there  were  no  wounded  while  we 
were  there.  They  told  us  a  train  of  wounded 
had  passed  in  the  night.  H.  was  as  plucky  as 
possible;  I  was  worried  to  death  about  her.  She 
is  kept  so  carefully  and  watched  over  so  at  home 
that  I  didn't  see  how  she  could  stand  all  those 
hours  sitting  bolt  upright  in  the  carriage,  but  she 
did,  and  is  none  the  worse  for  it. 

We  got  to  Laigle  at  9  Saturday  morning; 
walked  over  to  the  hotel  opposite  the  gare  and 
got  a  nice  clean  room  with  hot  water,  where  we 


72  MY  WAR  DIARY 

could  arrange  ourselves  a  little.  We  had  very- 
good  cafe  au  lait  and  pain  de  menage  on  the  ter- 
race, with  soldiers,  refugees,  and  people  leaving 
Paris.  Everybody  talked  to  everybody,  but  no 
one  knew  any  more  of  the  war  than  we  did.  We 
left  H.  sitting  on  a  very  hard  stone  bench  with 
her  knitting,  and  Marie  and  I  went  for  a  stroll. 
It  is  a  pretty  little  town  with  a  fine  market-place, 
and  a  modern  chateau  standing  in  a  wood  at  the 
top.  In  the  eleventh  century  there  was  a  fine 
chateau-fort  built  by  the  first  Marquis  de  Laigle, 
which  was  destroyed  by  the  English  in  141 9. 
This  one  is  built  on  the  site  of  the  old  one.  The 
park  has  been  cut  up,  but  some  of  the  old  trees 
remain  and  are  splendid,  and  we  had  charming 
glimpses  of  the  river  in  the  distance.  There  are 
handsome,  coloured-glass  windows  in  the  church 
of  St.  Martin.  We  didn't  see  many  soldiers, 
though  they  told  us  they  had  four  hundred  to  &ve 
hundred  wounded,  but  we  met  many  Belgian  ref- 
ugees, looking  so  sad  and  weary,  with  a  pathetic, 
half -dazed  expression  in  their  blue  eyes.  They  try 
to  give  both  men  and  women  work  in  the  fields. 

While  we  were  at  the  gare  after  breakfast,  try- 
ing to  get  some  information  about  our  train,  we 
heard  the  drum,  the  generate,  which  means  some- 
thing serious.  In  an  instant  the  little  place  was 
black  with  people.  All  one's  nerves  are  on  edge, 
and  we  saw  instantly  bands  of  Uhlans  in  the  dis- 
tance.    However,    the    announcement    was    not 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         73 

tragic,  though  significant:  "Defense  de  porter  le 
pain  dans  la  ville."  ("Carrying  bread  in  the 
city  forbidden.")  It  tells  that  one  is  put  upon 
war  rations  and  everybody  must  go  and  get  his 
bread,  which,  in  the  big  cities,  means  standing  for 
hours  in  the  crowd  at  the  baker's  door. 

We  started  at  4  for  Mortague,  where,  in  ordi- 
nary times,  one  arrives  in  two  hours,  but  we  only 
got  there  at  8.  We  were  told  we  could  get  good 
accommodation  there  for  the  night.  Again  a 
great  crowd  at  the  station — whole  families  of 
women  and  children,  and  travellers  sitting  on 
their  bags;  military  trains  and  long  provision  and 
forage  trains  passing  in  rapid  succession,  every- 
thing making  way  for  them.  It  is  curious  to 
travel  when  the  country  is  under  martial  law. 
Most  of  the  employees  of  the  railways  are  with 
the  army,  their  places  taken  by  soldiers  who 
guard  the  stations.  We  had  a  number  of  young 
recruits  on  board — the  class  of  19 14,  which, 
properly,  should  only  have  been  called  to  the 
colours  this  October.  At  all  the  stations  we  picked 
up  others,  their  fathers  and  mothers  and  families 
generally  coming  to  wish  them  good-bye  and  good 
luck,  all  the  boys  as  gay  and  lively  as  if  they 
were  going  off  to  a  country  fair;  all  manner  of 
jokes  about  "Guillaume"  and  promises  to  bring 
back  buttons  and  cartouches  from  Germany.  One 
young  fellow  came  into  our  compartment.  He 
looked   refined   and  delicate  (I   shouldn't  think 


74  MY  WAR  DIARY 

he  could  stand  much  hard  work),  of  good  birth 
and  manners,  and  evidently  didn't  care  for  the 
rough  jokes  of  his  companions.  He  told  us  he  was 
just  twenty,  a  Parisian,  only  child  of  his  parents, 
had  nine  first  cousins  in  the  war.  One  saw  he 
was  accustomed  to  the  good  things  of  the  world. 
He  made  a  very  good  meal  from  a  nice  basket  he 
had  with  him,  winding  up  with  bonbons  and  a 
large  piece  of  cake.  He  helped  us  to  take  down 
our  bags  when  we  arrived  at  Mortague  and  looked 
perfectly  miserable  when  we  shook  hands  and 
hoped  he  would  get  along  all  right.  Poor  child ! 
I  am  sure  he  cried  a  little  when  he  was  alone  in 
the  carriage.  If  we  think  twenty  is  young,  what 
must  the  German  mothers  feel  whose  sons  are 
called  out  at  sixteen  ? 

There  were  just  the  same  scenes  when  we  ar- 
rived at  Mortague — people  everywhere,  not  a 
room  to  be  had  at  any  hotel  or  any  house  in  the 
town.  I  must  confess  to  a  moment  of  profound 
discouragement  when  Marie  and  one  of  the 
soldier-porters  went  off  to  see  what  they  could 
find.  H.  and  I  remained  at  the  station,  she  seated 
on  a  baggage-truck  in  the  middle  of  the  bags. 
We  waited  some  time,  nobody  reappearing,  and 
I  saw  the  moment  when  I  must  ask  the  chef  de 
gare  to  let  us  sleep  in  a  first-class  carriage  in  the 
station.  When  they  finally  came  back,  Marie 
and  the  two  men,  they  said  there  was  nothing  to 
be  had  in  the  town,  but  the  men  knew  a  lady — 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         75 

une  brave  dame — who  kept  a  small  pension  for  the 
railway  employees ;  they  thought  she  could  take  us 
in,  but  it  was  at  a  little  distance  from  the  town. 

Then  came  the  difficulty  of  transporting  H. 
There  were  no  carriages  of  any  kind;  she  couldn't 
walk.  It  was  late,  9.30;  perfectly  dark;  a  "petit 
bout  de  chemin"  might  mean  anything,  from  one 
kilometre  to  three.  However,  somebody  had  a 
brilliant  idea.  The  men  said  they  would  get  an- 
other porter  who  would  carry  our  baggage,  and 
they  would  wheel  H.  on  the  truck.  She  didn't 
like  it  much,  poor  dear,  but  they  promised  to  go 
carefully,  so  we  started,  one  porter  in  front,  carry- 
ing a  lantern,  another  alongside  with  all  our  bags, 
the  third  wheeling  the  truck,  Marie  and  I  on  each 
side,  so  that  H.  couldn't  fall  off.  It  was  a  won- 
derful procession.  We  crossed  the  track,  followed 
the  road  for  a  short  time,  and  then  began  to  go 
down  a  steep,  rough  path,  the  man  asking  both 
me  and  Marie  to  hold  the  truck  back.  It  was 
such  a  ridiculous  plight  that  we  couldn't  take  it 
tragically,  but  I  was  thankful  when  we  stopped. 

At  the  end  of  the  path  we  came  to  a  garden  and 
a  nice  house  with  open  windows  and  lights  which 
looked  friendly.  A  nice-looking,  gray-haired 
woman,  attired  in  a  black-and-white  dressing- 
gown,  opened  the  door  and  showed  us  into  a  small 
room  where  a  man  was  supping.  She  said  she 
could  only  give  us  one  little  room,  as  her  best  one 
was  given  to  two  wounded  soldiers  she  had  taken 


76  MY  WAR  DIARY 

in,  but  she  would  give  us  two  clean  beds,  and  find 
something — a  mattress  on  the  floor  perhaps — for 
the  maid,  and  would  give  us  something  to  eat. 
We  had  a  good  omelet,  bread  and  butter  and  cider, 
and  talked  to  the  man,  who  was  an  inspector  of 
telegraphs.  The  poor  old  lady  was  very  worried 
at  the  very  little  she  could  give  us,  but  Marie  re- 
assured her,  and  after  hearing  a  great  noise  of 
moving  furniture  over  our  heads  she  reappeared 
with  nice  clean  linen  sheets,  and  Marie  went  up- 
stairs with  her  to  help  make  the  beds.  We  con- 
sulted the  porter  who  wheeled  H.  down  about 
the  way  of  getting  to  Le  Mele  the  next  day  (one 
train  was  at  4.30  in  the  morning,  another  at  9  at 
night,  arriving  Heaven  knows  when).  He  ad- 
vised taking  an  auto;  knew  the  patron  of  one  very 
well;  would  go  at  once  and  ask  him  if  he  would 
take  us  direct  to  Les  Aulneaux,  and  would  come 
back  with  the  answer.  He  returned  before  we 
went  up-stairs,  saying  the  man  would  come  for 
us  the  next  morning  at  10  o'clock. 

I  was  so  tired  I  was  asleep,  sitting  up  in  a 
straight-backed  chair.  H.  and  I  had  a  very  nice 
clean  room,  a  lovely  garden  smell  coming  in  from 
the  open  window,  and  not  a  sound  except  trains 
moving  all  night.  We  slept  perfectly  well.  Marie 
had  a  mattress  on  two  chairs  in  the  corridor  just 
outside  our  room,  with  her  dog,  a  wise  little  fox- 
terrier,  to  take  care  of  her.  I  was  up  early  and 
had  very  good  cafe  au  lait,  a  fresh  eggy  and  bread 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         77 

and  butter,  and  talked  a  little  to  the  man  of  the 
telegraph,  who  was  most  hopeful  about  the  war — 
said  wherever  he  went  in  any  class,  there  was  the 
same  spirit  of  dogged  resistance  to  the  Germans; 
they  would  fight  to  the  last  man  and  woman. 

When  he  had  gone  the  old  lady  appeared  with 
many  apologies  for  the  poor  accommodation 
she  had  given  us;  she  would  like  to  present 
her  two  blesses  to  us;  so  as  soon  as  H.  ap- 
peared she  brought  them — two  fine,  good-looking 
young  fellows,  fantassins  (infantry),  about  twenty- 
six  and  thirty;  one  married  just  six  months  ago. 
They  had  been  wounded  in  the  Ardennes,  not  very 
badly,  each  in  the  arm,  and  were  dying  to  go 
back.  The  younger  one  can  soon  go;  the  other's 
case  was  more  serious.  They  had  just  come 
from  the  hospital  at  Rheims  (which  is  near  Ma- 
reuil),  as  the  hospital  had  been  evacuated.  We 
asked  them  if  they  had  plenty  to  eat  when  they 
were  fighting.  They  said  always  plenty  and  very 
good,  and  wherever  they  passed  on  their  way 
back  everybody  was  good  to  them,  bringing  them 
wine,  cigarettes,  flowers.  They  told  us  a  funny 
story  about  one  of  their  comrades  here,  in  one  of 
the  Algerian  regiments.  He  appeared  after  the 
fight  slightly  wounded,  but  with  a  very  good 
bicycle,  explaining  in  his  funny  French:  "Moi 
tue  quatre  Prussiens,  puis  pris  bicyclette.,,  He 
was  in  great  request  with  his  bicyclette  as  he  got 
better.     He    had    been    wounded    in    the    head; 


78  MY  WAR  DIARY 

"petite  chose,"  he  said,  but  was  able  to  go  about 
the  country  and  do  errands.  I  walked  about  the 
garden  while  we  were  waiting  for  the  auto,  and 
when  I  saw  by  daylight  the  steep,  stony  path  we 
had  taken  last  night  I  really  wondered  how  H. 
and  her  truck  ever  got  down  and  how  she  ever 
stayed  on  it. 

The  auto  with  the  patron  himself  driving  came 
at  10  o'clock  and  we  went  first  to  the  town  to 
lay  in  some  provisions.  Fernande  had  not  an- 
swered any  of  her  mother's  letters,  and  this 
is  such  an  out-of-the-way  place  that  it  would 
not  have  been  safe  to  arrive  without  certain 
precautions.  The  main  street  was  full  of  sol- 
diers ;  there  are  six  hundred  wounded  and  walking 
about  with  arms  in  slings  and  bandaged  legs  and 
heads,  all  most  cheerful.  We  met  the  two  of  our 
house,  who  waved  to  us  in  the  most  friendly 
fashion.  We  had  a  charming  drive,  about  an 
hour  to  this  little  place,  through  lovely  country 
— all  green  fields,  hedges,  and  fine  trees;  few  vil- 
lages, almost  all  farms  and  grazing  country — 
cows,  horses,  and  colts  in  the  fields.  We  arrived 
about  11.30  just  as  the  congregation  was  coming 
out  of  church,  and  you  can  imagine  the  sensation 
we  made  in  the  auto,  crammed  with  bags  and 
parcels  of  every  description.  Fernande  was  quite 
bewildered,  as  she  had  received  none  of  her 
mother's  letters,  and  three  extra  people  in  a  small 
house  is  a  serious  thing. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR 


79 


Monday,  September  7  th. 
It  is  an  enchanting  summer  day.  We  all  seem 
living  in  a  dream.  Fernande  is  the  daughter  of 
H.'s  Marie,  who  has  been  with  her  for  over  nine- 
teen years.  She  is  a  schoolmistress  here  and  is 
adjointe*  to  the  maire,  and  lives  in  the  mairie. 
It  is  a  very  nice  house,  with  three  big  rooms,  a 
courtyard,  and  a  garden,  and  a  high  airy  class- 
room which  we  used  as  a  salon.  All  day  yesterday 
they  were  arranging  two  rooms  for  us.  Every- 
body in  the  village,  from  the  cure\  who  lent  a 
fauteuil,  to  the  mayor,  who  lent  a  bed,  contrib- 
uting something.  A  farmer's  wife  brought  a 
bottle  of  fresh  milk,  and  everybody  gave  a  help- 
ing hand.  Fernande  went  to  the  nearest  big 
town,  Mamers,  yesterday  with  a  long  list — two 
straw  armchairs,  portemanteaux  to  hang  up  our 
skirts  and  hats  (if  ever  we  see  our  trunks  again 
and  have  anything  to  hang  up),  and  some  stuff 
to  cover  tables  (boxes!  standing  up  on  one  end), 
etc.  In  all  my  experiences,  which  have  been 
many  and  varied,  I  have  never  lived  before  in 
two  rooms  in  a  mairie,  but  I  think  we  shall  be 
perfectly  comfortable  and  so  quiet.  There  isn't 
a  sound,  except  the  angelus,  which  rings  twice  a 
day,  and  makes  us  stop  for  a  moment  in  what 
we  are  doing  to  think  and  pray  for  all  our  men  in 
the  thick  of  the  fight. 

*  Assistant. 


80  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Wednesday,  September  9th. 

It  is  a  most  primitive  little  hamlet,  about  four- 
teen houses,  a  church,  mairie,  and  schoolhouse, 
one  shop,  just  off  the  highroad  to  Mamers,  the  big 
town  of  the  neighborhood,  about  ten  kilometres 
away,  almost  hidden  on  the  great  stretches  of 
fields  and  orchards  which  open  out  in  all  direc- 
tions. It  is  a  great  grazing  country;  there  are 
plenty  of  cows,  horses,  and  long-legged  colts  in 
all  the  fields,  and  even  the  smallest  farmer  has 
eight  or  ten  beasts.  They  sell  the  horses  very 
well — one  thousand  five  hundred  or  two  thousand 
francs — which  makes  them  a  very  good  income, 
independent  of  what  the  farm  brings.  Now,  of 
course,  there  are  no  men  anywhere.  The  women 
and  old  men  do  all  the  work. 

I  went  to  see  the  cure  this  afternoon.  He  has 
a  nice  house  with  a  big  garden  and  orchard  next 
the  church.  He  opened  the  door  for  me  and 
asked  me  to  come  in — into  the  kitchen,  where  a 
bright  wood-fire  was  burning  and  a  nice-looking 
woman  sitting  sewing  at  the  window,  whom  he 
introduced  as  his  aunt.  He  is  tall,  slight,  a  gentle- 
man in  manner;  had  on  an  old  soutane,  with  a 
blue  gardener's  apron  over  it.  He  excused  him- 
self for  receiving  me  in  such  dress,  but  he  was 
working  in  his  garden.  I  sat  there  about  ten 
minutes  telling  him  all  I  knew,  which  wasn't 
much,  but  my  news  from  Paris  was  more  re- 
cent than  anything  he  had  heard.     I  asked  him 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         81 

if  I  might  play  on  the  harmonium;  he  said  as 
much  as  I  liked,  but  he  was  afraid  a  Parisienne 
would  not  find  it  very  good.  It  had  been  seven- 
teen years  in  the  church  and  a  good  deal  knocked 
about  by  people  who  did  not  know  how  to  use  it. 
I  thanked  him  for  the  fauteuil,  and  he  asked  me  if 
I  would  like  to  have  a  sofa;  he  had  one  in  his 
salon,  which  we  went  to  see,  but  I  don't  think  I 
shall  indulge  in  such  a  luxury  as  a  red  velvet  sofa 
in  my  room.  Another  time  he  will  show  me  his 
house  and  garden  and  orchard.  The  house  looks 
large  and  roomy.  It  seems  he  has  four  very  good 
rooms  up-stairs  which  he  would  let,  but  there  is 
no  furniture;  we  would  have  to  hire  it  from  Ma- 
mers,  which  wouldn't  be  worth  while  if  we  only 
stay  to  the  end  of  Lhe  month,  which  I  hope. 
Besides,  we  should  be  less  free  staying  at  the 
Presbyt&re.  Here  we  are  perfectly  comfortable 
with  three  women  to  look  after  us — Marie,  Fer- 
nande,  and  a  cousin  from  Belfort — an  Inspectrice 
d'Ecoles,  such  a  nice  woman,  obliged  to  leave  Bel- 
fort,  which  was  threatened  at  one  time — her  hus- 
band with  the  army.  However,  I  don't  think 
the  Germans  will  tackle  Belfort  this  time.  They 
know  quite  well  how  strongly  it  is  fortified,  and 
they  need  all  their  troops  to  stand  the  desperate 
resistance  they  will  meet  before  Paris.  We  talked 
a  little,  of  course,  of  the  state  of  France  and  how 
this  awful  war  had  been  sprung  upon  her,  the  cur£ 
saying  she  deserved  it  as  a  chastisement  for  the 


82  MY  WAR  DIARY 

wickedness  and  immorality  of  the  country.  I 
didn't  pursue  that  conversation,  as  it  seems  hard 
to  visit  the  iniquities  of  the  big  towns  which  have 
always  existed  upon  the  thousands  of  brave, 
honest  men,  good  husbands  and  fathers,  leaving 
all  they  have  in  the  world  and  fighting  bravely 
and  cheerfully  for  their  country. 

Friday,  September  nth. 
We  are  settling  down  to  our  life  in  this  quiet 
little  corner  of  France.  If  only  we  had  more 
communication  with  Paris  and  the  rest  of  France. 
I  get  a  walk  every  morning  and  already  know  all 
the  village.  I  stopped  to  talk  to  a  nice-looking 
girl  the  other  day  who  had  a  baby  in  her  arms, 
its  father,  her  brother,  at  the  front.  She  invited 
me  to  come  in  and  I  found  a  nice,  clean  peasant's 
house;  her  father  and  mother  very  respectable, 
speaking  quite  intelligibly.  Sometimes  their 
French — not  exactly  a  patois,  but  with  a  curious 
accent — is  hard  to  understand.  They  knew  all 
about  us;  had  seen  us  arrive  at  the  schoolhouse 
in  the  automobile,  and  were  most  curious  for  news 
from  Paris.  They  offered  me  a  drink — wine, 
milk,  or  cider — but  I  excused  myself  on  the  plea 
of  its  being  early  in  the  morning.  The  country 
is  lovely,  like  walking  through  an  English  park; 
no  fences  anywhere;  green  banks,  high  hedges, 
and  splendid  pasture-fields.  I  don't  see  much 
cultivation ;   I  fancy  horses  and  farm  products  are 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         83 

the  principal  resources.  H.  and  I  go  every  day 
about  6  o'clock  to  the  church,  which  we  have  to 
ourselves,  and  have  arranged  a  little  service.  I 
play  and  sing  some  hymns  or  bits  of  Beethoven. 
The  harmonium  isn't  bad,  only  I  have  so  little 
the  habit  of  playing  an  organ  that  I  forget  the 
pedals  sometimes,  and  then  the  music  stops  with 
a  sort  of  wheeze.  I  always  finish  with  the  even- 
ing hymn:  "Sun  of  my  soul,  Thou  Saviour  dear," 
"God  save  the  King,"  and  the  Russian  hymn. 
I  don't  dare  play  the  "Marseillaise"  in  the 
church.  It  would  upset  the  cur£  dreadfully, 
and  yet  it  is  too  bad  not  to  play  sometimes  for 
our  soldiers.  The  next  time  any  one  goes  to 
Mamers  I  will  ask  them  to  bring  me  back  the 
famous  marche  of  "Sambre  et  Meuse,"  which  our 
troops  love  to  march  to. 

We  had  a  good  mail  this  morning:  letters  a 
little  old,  and  papers  the  second  day  from  Paris; 
also  a  telegram  from  Charlotte,  from  Cherbourg, 
where  she  has  joined  Francis.  She  is  trying  to 
find  a  small  house  there — says  the  boys  are  highly 
excited  seeing  their  father  in  uniform.  The  war 
news  is  good,  the  Germans  retreating.  For  the 
moment  they  seem  to  have  given  up  their  march 
on  Paris;  I  wonder  why. 

Sunday,  September  13th. 
Yesterday  was  rather  a  wild  day,  raining  and 
blowing.     However,  I  got  out  between  the  show- 


84  MY  WAR  DIARY 

ers.  Still  nothing  of  our  trunks,  which  were  sent 
off  two  days  after  us  (just  a  week  ago).  We  man- 
age pretty  well.  Our  next-door  neighbor  washes 
our  linen,  and  our  serge  dresses  hold  out.  We 
each  had  an  extra  blouse  in  our  bags.  We  hear 
all  sorts  of  reports.  In  a  letter  to-day  from  Anne 
Morgan,  written  from  her  convent  in  England, 
she  says:  "The  great  event  in  our  quiet  lives  has 
been  the  passing  of  the  Cosaques  at  our  little  sta- 
tion at  Norton  bridge.  I  am  sorry  I  could  not 
go  and  see  them;  all  the  countryside  was  much 
excited."  They  are  a  wild  lot,  particularly  the 
red  Cosaques.  They  are  dressed  in  red,  have 
long  red  lances,  and  ride  small,  red  bay  horses. 
We  saw  them  in  Moscow  at  the  coronation  of 
Alexander  III.  They  patrolled  the  streets  to 
keep  the  crowd  back — such  a  patient,  long-suffer- 
ing crowd.  Sometimes  they  backed  their  horses 
vigorously  into  the  mass  of  people ;  no  one  seemed 
to  mind ;  the  ranks  thinned  out  a  little  but  formed 
again  instantly.  Sometimes  they  charged  down 
the  street  full  gallop,  brandishing  their  lances  and 
yelling  in  the  most  awful  way.  Even  in  times  of 
peace  it  was  enough  to  strike  terror  into  the 
stoutest  heart.  The  Russians  seem  to  have  anni- 
hilated the  Austrians,  who  certainly  have  not 
proved  themselves  a  very  formidable  foe.  I  don't 
think  they  will  find  it  so  easy  with  the  Germans, 
who  will  certainly  make  a  desperate  resistance 
before  Berlin.     For  some  reason  we  don't  know, 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         85 

the  Germans  are  not  advancing  on  Paris  and  are 
retreating  steadily  toward  the  southeast — sixty 
kilometres — pursued  by  the  French  and  English, 
who  have  taken  cannon  and  prisoners.  The  fight- 
ing must  have  been  awful,  day  after  day,  and  even 
the  very  meagre  official  reports  say  there  were 
great  losses  on  both  sides.  It  is  heart-breaking 
to  think  of  the  mournings  there  will  be  in  France 
when  the  lists  are  published.  A  whole  generation 
in  the  flower  of  their  strength  and  youth  cut  down 
on  account  of  one  man's  wicked  ambition. 

The  mayor,  who  comes  to  see  us  every  night, 
brought  a  report  yesterday  that  two  of  the  Em- 
peror's sons  were  terribly  wounded  and  the  Em- 
press gone  out  of  her  mind.  If  it  is  true,  as 
many  people  say,  that  she  wanted  the  war,  and 
arranged  it  all  with  the  Crown  Prince  while  the 
Emperor  was  cruising,  her  punishment  has  come 
quickly. 

This  morning  I  went  to  church,  a  simple  coun- 
try service;  more  men  than  I  expected  to  see. 
The  melodeon  was  played  by  a  small  boy  with 
one  finger,  but  he  did  sound  the  notes.  The 
chantre,  having  gone  to  the  war,  was  replaced  by 
an  elderly  gentleman  who  did  his  best,  but  wasn't 
always  of  the  same  key  as  the  instrument.  Then 
the  cure  intervened  and  brought  him  back  to  the 
right  note.  The  congregation  looked  respectable 
and  well-to-do.  Fernande  says  there  are  no  poor 
in  the  village.     All  the  little  girls  had  their  hair 


86  MY  WAR  DIARY 

neatly  braided  in  pigtails  down  their  backs,  tied 
with  a  blue  or  white  ribbon.  All  the  women  wear 
the  coiffe  of  the  country,  a  white  muslin  cap  with 
a  very  full  crown  falling  low  at  the  back  of  the 
neck,  a  bow  of  muslin  on  the  top.  Some  of  the 
rich  farmers'  wives  have  four  or  five  in  their  trous- 
seau, which  last  all  their  lives  and  go  to  their 
daughters  after  them.  When  they  are  hand- 
embroidered  they  are  quite  expensive.  A  young 
woman  came  to  see  Marie  the  other  day  with  a 
very  pretty  one  which  was  given  to  her  when  she 
married,  and  which  cost  seventy-five  francs. 
Marie  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't  like  to  wear  a 
hat,  but  she  said  not  at  all,  and  that  her  husband 
wouldn't  let  her.  "Une  fermiere  doit  porter  la 
coiffe  du  pays."  The  girls  wear  hats  but  simple 
ones,  not  so  many  flowers  and  feathers  as  our 
girls  in  Mareuil.  Some  of  the  farmers  are  very 
rich.  One  of  them  married  his  daughter  some 
time  ago  and  gave  her  a  trousseau,  linen  sheets 
and  table-linen,  and  beasts,  which  would  have 
been  a  fortune  in  Paris.  The  wedding  festivities 
went  on  for  a  week,  all  the  countryside  feasting 
at  the  farm.  He  is  said  to  have  spent  five  thou- 
sand francs  on  the  entertainment. 

Thursday,  September  17th. 
We   are  having   beautiful,    golden    September 
days,  but  the  evenings  are  chilly.     I  walk  about 
in  the  mornings.    All  the  women  come  to  the 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         87 

doors  of  their  cottages  and  ask  me  to  come  in. 
It  is  curious  to  see  no  men  except  very,  very  old 
ones,  the  women  doing  all  the  work.  Every  morn- 
ing I  meet  a  girl  about  twelve  years  old,  mounted 
astride  on  a  big  farm-horse;  a  little  later  she  ap- 
pears on  another;  evidently  takes  the  horses  to 
the  field,  which  the  women  plough.  It  is  only 
in  the  country  that  one  realises  the  war  and  the 
difficulty  of  transport  and  provisions.  The  farm- 
ers are  afraid  even  their  poor  old  horses  will 
be  taken  away;  all  the  best  ones  have  already 
gone. 

Our  trunks  have  arrived  and  we  are  more  com- 
fortable. Until  they  came  we  didn't  like  to  go 
out  in  the  rain,  as,  if  we  got  our  skirts  wet,  we  had 
nothing  to  change.  We  are  rather  short  in  books. 
I  read  so  much  to  H.  that  we  are  very  dependent 
upon  books  and  papers.  Fernande  has  put  the 
"Bibliotheque  Scolaire"  at  our  disposition,  and 
that  may  keep  us  on  a  little.  I  have  found  a 
history  of  France  by  Lavisse,  much  abridged  and 
simplified.  Still  it  will  put  the  main  facts  back 
in  our  heads,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  answer  the 
boys'  questions  when  we  all  of  us  get  back  to 
Paris  again.  I  was  very  embarrassed  when  they 
were  beginning  their  Bible  history  to  find  how 
little  I  remembered  about  the  misfortunes  of 
Tobit  and  various  Kings  of  Judah.  There  is  also 
in  the  library  a  translation  of  "Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin"  and  the  "Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  so  you 


88  MY  WAR  DIARY 

see  we  are  not  very  modern  in  this  quiet  little  cor- 
ner of  France.  The  happy  days  in  Mareuil  seem 
so  far  off.  We  have  had  such  beautiful  September 
days  there,  the  men  shooting  partridges  all  day, 
we  women  joining  them  at  tea-time  in  the  keep- 
er's cottage,  and  the  lovely  walk  home  across  the 
fields,  the  soft  evening  light  making  everything 
a  picture* — a  peasant  woman  crossing  the  field, 
her  baby  tied  in  a  red  shawl  on  the  back,  the  man 
ploughing,  his  white  oxen  standing  out  against 
the  sky-line,  and  always  in  the  distance  the  purple 
line  of  the  Villers-Cotterets  forest. 

In  a  letter  from  Tours  from  Madame  Sallan- 
drouze,  received  this  morning,  she  spoke  of  the  con- 
stant passage  of  wounded  soldiers,  both  French 
and  English,  at  the  station.  All  the  ladies  take 
them  fruit,  wine,  cigarettes,  and  above  all  post- 
cards. Both  Renee  and  Madeleine  speak  Eng- 
lish well,  and  they  say  the  poor  men  were  so  grate- 
ful to  have  postcards  sent  to  their  families.  One 
young  fellow  said  most  respectfully  to  Madeleine : 
"Might  I  kiss  you,  mademoiselle?"  She  in- 
stantly gave  him  her  cheek.  One  regiment  had 
been  to  La  Ferte-Milon  and  Mareuil  the  night  of 
the  31st  (the  day  Charlotte  and  her  family  left) 
pursuing  German  cavalry  who  also  passed  through. 
As  the  Germans  were  retreating  they  probably 
didn't  have  time  to  stop  and  pillage  or  burn  our 
house ;  however,  we  know  nothing.  Francis  may 
have  some  news  perhaps,  but  his  letters  are  very 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         89 

rare,  postal  communication  is  very  long,  and  the 
soldiers  are  forbidden  to  give  any  details  about 
anything. 

Sunday,  20th  September. 

We  get  through  our  days  as  well  as  we  can, 
but  it  is  terrible  to  have  so  little  news.  They  are 
fighting  hard  over  all  parts  of  the  country — Ger- 
mans perfect  barbarians,  burning,  pillaging,  shoot- 
ing perfectly  innocent  people.  There  will  be  a 
fearful  reckoning  when  the  time  comes.  At 
church  this  morning  the  cure'  read  us  the  bishop's 
letter  announcing  the  election  of  the  new  Pope, 
Benoit  XV,  and  ending  with  the  prayer  that  he 
might  be  the  means  of  restoring  peace  among  na- 
tions. The  service  is  the  most  primitive  I  have 
ever  seen.  The  poor  little  boy  who  plays  the 
harmonium  with  one  ringer  got  nervous  this 
morning,  lost  his  place  completely.  Every  one 
waited — the  cur6  turning  round,  saying,  "Try  the 
Alleluia,"  but  no  sound  was  forthcoming.  The 
cure  and  the  chantre  had  it  all  their  own  way 
— and  a  very  curious  plain-chant  it  was.  The 
chantre  also  made  the  quete.  He  had  neither 
plate  nor  bag — held  out  his  hand  and  every  one 
put  the  offering  in  the  hollow  of  the  palm. 

It  has  been  a  beautiful  day,  a  gorgeous  sunset, 
but  the  evenings  are  decidedly  chilly.  I  am  get- 
ting a  little  nervous  about  staying  much  longer 
with  H.     If  it  begins  to  rain  or  we  have  a  series 


90  MY  WAR  DIARY 

of  foggy  days — already  a  mist  rises  in  the  fields 
after  sunset — this  little  house  would  be  very 
damp — besides,  I  seem  to  get  more  news,  such 
as  it  is,  in  Paris.  Little  things  always  leak  out, 
and  the  few  diplomatists  who  are  left  keep  us 
well  informed. 

Monday,  21st  September. 
To-day  Marie  and  I  made  an  excursion  to  Ma- 
mers,  the  nearest  big  town,  where  there  is  a  Sous- 
Prefecture,  big  hospital,  and  famous  market. 
Monsieur  le  Maire  drove  us  in  his  dog-cart,  a 
most  primitive  little  country  equipage,  with  very 
high,  broad  wheels,  and  rather  narrow  seats. 
However,  it  was  only  twelve  kilometres  and  he 
had  a  good  little  mare  (just  over  two  years  old, 
too  young  to  be  requisitioned — all  his  good  farm- 
horses  being  taken).  He  took  us  along  at  a  fair 
rate.  We  picked  up  a  friend,  a  nice-looking 
peasant  woman,  on  the  road;  she  was  trudging 
along  to  market  carrying  a  heavy  basket  in  each 
hand — eggs  in  one,  and  pots  of  fresh  yellow  butter 
in  the  other.  The  route  was  charming,  bordered 
on  each  side  by  high  green  banks  and  hedges. 
We  ran  for  some  time  along  M.  d'Allieres's  prop- 
erty (the  man  who  stood  against  Caillaux  in  the 
last  elections),  in  fact  through  his  property,  as 
he  owned  the  land  on  each  side.  We  went  through 
fine  oak  woods,  growing  very  thick,  a  clearing 
every  now  and  then  giving  a  beautiful  far  view 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         91 

over  the  plains.  The  mayor  is  a  shrewd  little 
man;  talked  a  great  deal;  told  me  all  he  knew 
and  I  told  him  all  I  knew  (with  certain  limita- 
tions). One  of  his  remarks  rather  astonished  me. 
We  were  talking,  of  course,  about  the  war,  and 
how  Germany  had  been  preparing  quietly  and 
mobilising  for  months,  while  France,  apparently, 
was  quite  unprepared.  That,  he  remarked,  was 
the  fault  of  our  Ambassador  in  Berlin,  who  ought 
to  have  known  what  was  going  on — that  was  what 
Ambassadors  were  sent  to  foreign  countries  for. 

Mamers  is  a  pretty  little  country  town,  most 
animated  to-day,  market-day,  and  a  most  tempt- 
ing market  it  looked,  all  the  women  busy  and 
energetic-looking,  so  nice  with  their  clean  stiff 
white  coiffes,  standing  guard  over  their  stalls.  I 
never  saw  so  many  eggs  and  tubs  of  fresh  yellow 
butter  before  in  my  life.  There  were  quantities 
of  soldiers  everywhere,  one  regiment  of  chasseurs 
passing  through  on  their  way  to  the  Marne,  and 
some  of  the  wounded  walking  about  with  heads 
and  arms  bandaged.  The  hospital  is  full;  if 
there  are  any  English  wounded  I  will  go  and  see 
them.  We  made  various  purchases  and  then 
went  on  to  the  gare — quite  a  walk — to  ask  about 
trains  and  the  possibility  of  getting  back  to  Paris. 
In  the  main  street,  just  out  of  the  market  I  saw 
an  Infirmiere  of  the  Croix  Rouge  in  uniform.  I 
went  to  speak  to  her  to  ask  if  there  are  any  Eng- 
lish at  the  hospital.     She  was  rather  an  attractive- 


92  MY  WAR  DIARY 

looking  woman,  a  pretty  smile  and  nice  blue  eyes. 
She  was  very  civil,  said  there  were  no  English  at 
this  moment,  but  that  they  were  expecting  a 
convoi.  She  would  let  me  know  if  I  would  tell 
her  where  I  was.  I  said  it  wasn't  worth  while; 
I  was  not  at  Mamers,  but  at  a  little  village  some 
distance — Les  Aulneaux.  She  said  that  would 
make  no  difference,  she  could  easily  send  word. 
I  gave  my  name  and  we  parted.  The  mayor  said 
to  me :  ' '  Madame  sait  a  qui  elle  a  parle  ?  "  ' '  Non, 
pas  du  tout."  "C'est  Madame  Caillaux,  Ma- 
dame." I  was  rather  annoyed.  All  that  affair 
was  so  disgraceful.  One  felt  ashamed  of  being  a 
Frenchwoman.  However,  the  conversation  was 
of  the  briefest  and  most  impersonal  description. 
It  was  curious  to  come  upon  the  lady  the  one  day 
I  was  at  Mamers.  We  walked  through  the  Place 
de  la  Republique  on  our  way  to  the  station,  a 
broad,  handsome  avenue,  with  fine  trees,  good 
houses  with  gardens  at  the  roadside,  and  quite  an 
imposing  Sous-Prefecture,  with  iron  gates  and 
good  entrance.  The  station  looked  deserted — 
no  sign  of  traffic,  but  the  chef  de  gare  told  us  that 
the  trains  ran  regularly  twice  a  day  to  and  from 
Paris.  He  advised  us  to  go  at  night.  We  would 
certainly  have  no  trouble  about  seats,  and  it  would 
be  better  to  arrive  in  Paris  at  6  or  7  in  the  morn- 
ing than  at  12.30  or  perhaps  later  at  night,  so  I 
think  we  shall  do  that  and  leave  Sunday.  We 
went  back  to  the  market  to  pick  up  our  bundles, 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         93 

and  found  everybody  reading  the  Paris  papers, 
and  half-mad  with  rage.  The  Germans  have 
bombarded  and  reduced  to  ruins  the  Cathedral 
of  Rheims;  there  were  explosions  of  indignation 
everywhere.  Their  conduct  is  inexplicable,  to 
destroy  for  the  pleasure  of  destroying  and  putting 
the  whole  civilised  world  against  them.  One  can't 
imagine  Rheims  without  that  splendid  old  cathe- 
dral, so  full  of  beauty  and  mystery  and  the  old 
traditions  of  France — all  her  history.  The  mayor 
and  one  of  his  military  friends  with  whom  we  took 
coffee  before  starting  back,  in  a  cafe"  filled  with  sol- 
diers and  small  farmers,  were  furious,  and  sug- 
gested that  we  would  do  well  to  burn  the  Cologne 
Cathedral  when  our  troops  get  into  Germany. 
One  can't  quite  do  that,  but  one  might  destroy 
the  Royal  Palace  in  Berlin  and  a  few  others  of 
the  hideous  buildings  which  adorn  the  city. 

There  was  no  special  news  from  the  war  zone, 
but  one  serious  measure — all  the  men  up  to  forty- 
eight  years  old  have  been  called  out.  Certainly 
life  is  made  up  of  contrasts  here.  As  I  was 
jogging  along  very  contentedly  with  the  mayor, 
talking  about  the  relative  merits  of  oaks,  which 
he  knew  about,  and  poplars,  which  I  knew  about, 
as  a  source  of  income,  I  asked  myself  if  it  could 
have  been  I  who  drove  into  the  Kremlin  in  a  gala 
carriage  attired  in  "a  white  satin  gown,  all  fin- 
ished off  with  a  golden  crown,"  as  the  old  song 
says. 


94  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Tuesday,  September  22nd. 

Another  beautiful  day.  One  ought  to  be  so 
happy  merely  to  live  in  such  weather,  and  when 
one  thinks  of  all  those  who  will  never  see  their 
homes  and  woods  and  fields  again,  it  is  heart- 
rending. We  have  had  a  very  good  mail  to-day, 
all  the  papers,  of  course,  full  of  the  bombardment 
of  Rheims,  the  English  and  Americans  most  out- 
spoken. I  shouldn't  think  Von  Bernstorff's  posi- 
tion in  America  was  a  very  enviable  one.  I  have 
a  nice  letter  from  Charlotte  from  Octeville,  where 
she  has  found  a  nice  little  farmhouse,  very  clean, 
with  four  rooms,  kitchen,  sitting-room,  and  two 
bedrooms;  orchards,  big  garden — potager — a  cow, 
chickens,  and  all  sorts  of  vegetables.  It  is  close 
to  the  cantonnement,  so  that  Francis  can  come  to 
dine  and  sleep  every  night.  She  is  so  happy, 
poor  child,  to  be  with  Francis  again.  She  has 
also  found  a  nice,  strong  country  girl  to  do  the 
cooking  and  general  work.  Says  the  boys  are 
quite  well  and  happy,  playing  all  day  in  the 
fields  and  gardens.  She  has  friends  and  relations 
at  Cherbourg — twenty  minutes'  walk,  and  curi- 
ously enough  it  was  at  Cherbourg  that  she  made 
Francis's  acquaintance,  when  her  father,  Admiral 
Sallandrouze,  commanded  the  Atlantic  squadron 
and  was  stationed  at  Cherbourg.  She  and  Nanna 
are  going  to  work  regularly  at  the  Cherbourg 
hospital. 

I  left  off  as  I  heard  the  boulangere's  corne. 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         95 

She  generally  has  news,  and  stops  at  the  gate 
for  a  little  talk.  She  hadn't  any  news,  but  gave 
her  customers  a  disagreeable  piece  of  informa- 
tion— she  must  raise  her  prices,  and  ask  in  the 
future  twenty-four  sous  instead  of  twenty-three 
for  the  long  loaf  of  bread  which  she  supplies.  The 
women  protested,  but  she  said  her  bags  of  flour 
had  increased  in  price  and  diminished  in  size. 
She  couldn't  make  both  ends  meet  if  she  didn't 
ask  more  for  her  bread.  She  is  mistress  of  the 
situation,  as  there  is  no  other  baker  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. I  suppose  at  the  big  farms  they  do 
make  bread,  but  there  would  be  no  way  of  getting 
it ;  the  men  are  all  away,  and  the  women  too  busy 
to  go  and  get  it.  Every  day  women  come  to 
the  mairie  to  ask  for  news  of  their  husbands  and 
sons.  One  poor  young  thing  with  four  small 
children  is  quite  hopeless.  Her  husband  was  in 
all  the  fighting  in  Belgium;  wrote  or  sent  messages 
at  first ;  since  three  weeks  she  has  heard  nothing. 
The  nights  are  beautiful,  the  sky  as  blue  almost 
as  in  the  day,  and  myriads  of  stars.  I  wonder 
what  horrors  they  look  down  upon. 

Wednesday,  September  23rd. 
To-day  Marie  and  I  and  the  maire  have  been 
to  the  other  big  town,  Le  Mele;  just  the  same 
lovely  country,  but  more  farms  and  fields  than 
toward  Mamers.  I  should  think  there  was  more 
culture.     We  passed  one  big  fann  where  there  were 


96  MY  WAR  DIARY 

quantities  of  stacks  of  wheat;  the  mayor  said 
they  had  been  there  for  a  long  time;  there  was 
no  one  to  take  them  in;  each  man  had  as  much 
as  he  could  do  to  work  his  own  farm.  A  sign  of 
the  times  was  the  women  carting.  We  saw  cer- 
tainly three  or  four  heavy  carts  drawn  by  two 
old  horses,  filled  with  bags  of  flour  or  potatoes, 
with  women  walking  alongside  with  their  long 
whips,  just  like  the  men.  Le  Mele  is  a  pretty 
little  town,  the  river  Sarthe  flowing  through  it. 
Just  at  the  entrance  there  is  a  picturesque  old 
house,  now  a  mill,  with  courtyard  and  towers; 
it  had  been  a  chateau.  Usually  they  did  a  most 
flourishing  business,  the  mayor  told  me,  but  to-day 
it  was  almost  deserted — a  few  old  men  and  boys 
staggering  along  with  heavy  bags  on  their  shoul- 
ders. It  was  market-day  and  the  town  was  full, 
but  evidently  a  great  many  strangers — "des 
Parisiens,"  one  woman  told  us.  Le  Mele  is  on 
the  highroad  from  Paris  to  Brest,  and  hundreds 
of  people  passed  through  at  the  time  of  the 
panic  (when  the  Germans  were  near  Paris),  on 
their  way  to  some  quiet  little  place  in  Brittany. 
For  two  days,  the  patronne  of  our  little  hotel 
told  us,  two  hundred  autos  a  day  filled  with 
women,  children,  and  baggage  passed  through  the 
town.  There  are  no  soldiers,  no  wounded,  there 
now.  The  only  two  doctors  had  gone  to  the 
front;  no  traces  of  war — a  busy  little  country 
town.     When  I  went  into  a  shop  to  ask  for  a 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         97 

pattern  of  calecon  militaire,  the  woman  said  to 
me,  seeing  my  Red  Cross  badge,  "Ah,  Madame  is 
come  to  open  a  hospital."  All  the  women  in  the 
shop  were  making  garments  for  the  soldiers,  some 
of  them  knitting  stockings  as  they  walked  along 
the  streets.  There  were  several  autos  with  nice- 
looking  people  in  them  standing  about.  The 
market  was  crowded — always  the  same  nice-look- 
ing women,  so  active  and  alert,  standing  at  their 
stalls,  their  arms  akimbo,  smiling  and  eager  and  so 
intelligent  in  understanding  what  one  wanted.  I 
always  say  Frenchwomen  of  all  classes  are  the  best 
business  women  in  the  world.  There  was  just  the 
same  tempting  array  of  eggs,  cheeses,  chickens, 
and  butter  as  at  Mamers,  but  we  get  all  these 
from  the  farms.  We  wanted  some  meat,  which 
we  only  get  once  a  week  from  the  butcher.  The 
great  feature  was  fat  little  pink  pigs,  really  quite 
pretty — their  long  hair,  carefully  combed,  like 
silk.  The  mayor  told  us  they  were  much  in  de- 
mand, cost  forty  francs  apiece.  I  shall  become 
an  expert  in  farms  and  woods.  I  always  said  I 
ought  to  have  lived  in  the  country  and  have 
managed  a  model  farm.  It  was  really  more  my 
vocation  than  the  life  I  have  led  in  courts  and 
embassies,  though  that  had  its  charm  too. 

The  poor  mayor  was  rather  worried  when  we 
got  home.  He  found  despatches  advising  him 
of  the  passage  of  a  certain  black  automobile, 
filled  with  men  dressed  as  women,  flying  at  top- 


98  MY  WAR  DIARY 

speed  over  the  country — spies  certainly — who 
must  be  arrested.  Such  extraordinary  rumours 
get  about.  He  was  going  to  communicate  with 
the  gendarmes,  as  he  alone — he  is  a  little  man — 
could  do  nothing.  Usually  nothing  passes — some 
children,  a  few  carts  and  wagons,  and  a  great 
many  geese,  who  are  as  good  as  watch-dogs.  It 
seems  they  hate  strangers,  fly  at  the  children 
sometimes,  and  always  cackle  and  flap  their 
wings  when  any  one  passes.  They  are  enormous 
in  this  country,  as  big  as  swans.  It  really  is  a 
lovely  view  I  have  out  of  my  window  when  I  open 
the  shutters  wide  early  in  the  morning  and  look 
straight  across  the  narrow  country  road  to  a  high 
green  bank  and  hedge,  behind  it  pear  and  apple 
trees  loaded  with  fruit;  just  around  the  corner 
a  little  white  house  with  a  red  roof,  with  a  small 
garden  in  front,  where  a  red-cheeked,  white-haired 
old  woman  sits  all  day  in  the  sun,  and  invites  one 
in  to  pick  some  of  her  flowers.  They  make  their 
cider  here  much  more  with  pears  than  apples, 
and  very  good  it  is,  though  very  strong;  I  add  a 
great  deal  of  water. 

Friday,  September  25th. 
Still  beautiful,  bright  days.  We  sit  out  all 
day;  take  our  meals  (except  dinner)  in  the  gar- 
den. Yesterday  I  went  with  Marie  to  one  of  the 
famous  farms  near  here.  The  fermiere  came  for 
us  in  her  little   trap — a   clean,   energetic  little 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR  99 

woman,  dressed  like  all  the  peasants  in  a  short 
black  skirt,  and  wide,  blue-and- white  check 
apron,  which  hid  her  dress  entirely,  but  no  coiife, 
her  hair  very  neatly  done.  She  has  eight  chil- 
dren— seven  boys,  three  at  the  war,  and  one  girl, 
and  now  they  do  all  the  farm  work  themselves, 
as  they  can't  get  any  labourers.  The  court  looked 
very  clean  and  sunny,  all  the  buildings  in  good 
order.  We  saw  everything  conscientiously.  It 
was  amusing  when  the  boys  drove  in  the  brood- 
mares (which  have  just  begun  to  work  a  little). 
They  let  out  the  colts,  who  all  galloped  madly  to 
their  mothers.  The  farm  is  very  well  known. 
They  got  the  second  prize  for  the  best-kept  farm, 
and  would  have  had  the  first,  if  there  hadn't 
been  a  bottle  of  cornichons  in  the  dairy,  which 
the  judges  said  was  not  in  its  proper  place.  She 
gave  us  milk,  cider,  everything  she  had,  and  we 
carried  home  a  pot  of  thick  yellow  cream. 

This  afternoon's  mail  has  brought  us  bad  news 
from  Mareuil.  I  was  sure  it  would  come,  but  it 
has  distressed  me  very  much.  One  of  our  friends, 
M.  Pernolet,  was  en  tourn6e  in  our  part  of  the 
country  and  stopped  at  Mareuil  to  give  us  news. 
This  is  what  he  writes:  "The  1st  of  September 
the  English  arrived  and  did  a  little  harm,  but  they 
only  passed  through.  Then  came  the  Germans, 
who  stayed  eight  days.  They  have  entirely  de- 
molished the  inside  of  the  house,  stolen  linen, 
dresses,  all  the  batterie  de  cuisine,   twenty-nine 


ioo  MY  WAR  DIARY 

lamps,  the  silver  broken,  and  spoilt  all  the  furni- 
ture. In  the  cabinet  stolen  medals,  arms,  ran- 
sacked and  thrown  about  all  the  papers;  all  the 
bedding  spoilt;  one  new  automobile  taken;  an 
old  one  left;  the  outside  is  intact." 

I  don't  think  we  could  have  prevented  it.  I 
could  not  leave  Charlotte  there  alone  with  her 
boys  to  face  these  savages,  and  even  if  I  could 
have  left  H.,  I  don't  think  I  could  have  prevented 
anything,  a  woman  alone,  but  it  is  awful  to  think 
of  our  house  ruined  and  so  much  of  value  taken. 
All  my  husband's  papers  were  there,  locked  and 
padlocked  in  a  case,  but  that,  of  course,  was  easily 
smashed.  I  must  get  back  to  Paris  and  then 
down  to  Mareuil.  I  have  written  to  our  woman 
down  there  who  went  away  with  all  the  rest  when 
they  were  told  to  evacuer,  and  also  to  the  cure,  but 
I  must  get  there.  It  would  have  been  a  miracle 
if  we  had  escaped,  as  our  place  is  directly  on  the 
highroad  from  Meaux  to  Rheims.  We  had  also 
a  letter  from  Comtesse  Gyldenstolpe  (nee  Norah 
Plunkett),  wife  of  the  Swedish  minister,  from 
Bordeaux.  She  says:  "I  shall  never  forget  our 
hurried  departure  from  Paris  that  night,  that  end- 
less train,  crowded  with  people  of  all  nationalities, 
from  a  small  Chinese  baby  up  to  the  most  impor- 
tant Ambassador,  everybody  divided  up  by  coun- 
tries. I  never  knew  we  had  so  many  colleagues 
before.  As  we  travelled  through  the  night  we 
passed  one  train  militaire  after  the  other,  crowds 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR         101 

both  of  soldiers  and  evident  refugees  all  along  the 
line,  so  many  wounded  too.  I  shall  never  forget 
it;  everybody  so  anxious  and  preoccupied,  and  at 
the  same  time  each  one  asking  for  his  baggage 
and  wondering  how  he  could  caser  himself  when 
one  got  there.  The  heat  too ;  there  are  no  words 
to  describe  what  it  was;  no  words  either  to  de- 
scribe the  crowd,  soldiers,  political  people,  diplo- 
mats, stray  foreigners,  who  really  had  nothing  to 
do  here,  and  anxious  relatives,  who  wished  to  be 
at  headquarters  to  obtain  news.  ..." 

I  think  the  crowd  has  diminished  a  little  now, 
but,  of  course,  as  long  as  the  Government  is  at 
Bordeaux  it  will  always  be  the  great  centre.  We 
have  been  up  to  the  church  for  the  last  time,  and 
I  went  to  say  good-bye  to  M.  le  Cur6.  He  re- 
ceived me  in  his  salon  this  time — really  quite  a 
nice  room,  with  a  red-velvet  sofa  and  armchairs, 
a  bookcase,  and  a  big  window  opening  on  a 
pretty  garden.  I  told  him  if  I  had  been  more 
familiar  with  the  chants  of  his  church  I  would 
have  offered  to  play  for  him.  He  said  he  hadn't 
dared  ask  me.  He  was  much  interested  in  all  I 
told  him  about  Mareuil  and  how  our  house  had 
been  saccage.  It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  soft, 
pink  sunset  clouds;  the  yellow  moon  just  rising 
over  the  trees;  not  a  sound  in  the  quiet  little 
place  until  the  evening  angelus.  I  shall  miss  the 
bells;  they  seem  to  speak  of  peace  and  hope. 


102  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Paris,  Monday,  September  28th. 
We  arrived  this  morning  after  a  long  night  in 
the  train,  the  carriage  full.  However,  we  had  no 
adventures.  We  left  Les  Aulneaux  looking  quite 
charming  in  the  sunshine  about  3  o'clock  yesterday 
afternoon.  I  had  sent  for  a  carriage  from  Ma- 
mers  for  H.,  as  I  was  afraid  she  would  appreciate 
neither  the  mayor's  conveyance  nor  his  conver- 
sation, but  his  trap  followed  with  our  luggage  and 
the  two  women.  The  drive  was  charming;  our 
old  horse  went  quite  fast  enough.  The  harness 
was  a  little  casual;  the  driver  got  down  once  or 
twice  to  arrange  something,  finally  asked  Marie 
if  she  had  a  pair  of  scissors  and  a  piece  of  string. 
She  produced  both,  and  he  mended  whatever  was 
wrong,  and  we  got  to  Mamers  without  any  ad- 
venture. The  town  was  full  of  soldiers — many 
wounded,  a  group  of  Turcos  sitting  in  the  sun. 
Two  of  them  looked  badly,  stretched  out  on  cou- 
vertures;  they  couldn't  speak — just  smiled  when 
we  talked  to  them.  These  fierce  fighters  that 
caused  such  havoc  with  the  Germans,  and  are 
such  a  wild,  formidable  enemy,  had  good  simple 
faces,  almost  childlike.  We  stopped  at  the  H6tel 
du  Cygne  on  the  Place  de  la  Republique,  and  sat 
on  the  terrace  till  nearly  9  o'clock,  much  inter- 
ested in  all  that  was  going  on.  There  was  evi- 
dently a  general  or  superior  officer  staying  in  the 
house,  as  orderlies  were  going  and  coming  all  the 
time  with  despatches.     I  asked  a  nice-looking  old 


FIRST  DAYS  OF  THE  WAR       103 

colonel  if  there  was  any  news.  "Cela  va  bien, 
Madame;  nous  n'avons  qu'attendre;  nous  atten- 
drons."  ("All  is  going  well;  we  have  only  to 
wait.  We  will  wait.")  The  dinner  was  good, 
served  by  women ;  was  entirely  military — one  long 
room  filled  with  sous-officiers,  the  other  reserved 
for  the  officers  and  the  few  passing  travellers. 
There  was  a  great  jingle  of  spurs  and  sabres  when 
they  all  trooped  in — and  a  very  good-looking  lot 
of  officers  they  were — and  then  a  flow  of  conver- 
sation; all  were  most  cheerful.  We  had  a  little 
table  at  one  end  of  the  room,  too  far  to  hear  any 
of  the  talk,  which  I  was  sorry  for.  Some  of  them 
were  evidently  just  from  the  front,  some  very 
smart  chasseurs  with  their  light-blue  tunics  and 
red  trousers,  which  showed  distinct  signs  of  wear. 
I  caught  every  now  and  then  the  names  of  fa- 
miliar places  in  my  part  of  the  country :  La  Fert6- 
Milon — Villers-Cotterets.  They  might  perhaps 
have  given  me  news  of  Mareuil,  but  I  didn't  like 
to  ask.  Our  carriage  came  a  little  before  8  to 
take  us  to  the  station,  where  there  was  again  a 
great  crowd — as  many  people  apparently  want- 
ing to  get  into  Paris  now  as  there  were  who 
wanted  to  get  out  three  weeks  ago.  We  took  a 
little  country  train  to  Connerets  and  there  got 
the  rapide  de  Brest  for  Paris.  Any  illusion  we 
had  had  of  a  carriage  to  ourselves — or  even  a 
comfortable  seat — was  quickly  dispelled.  The 
train  stopped  for  a  very  short  time ;  we  were  hur- 


104  MY  WAR  DIARY 

ried  into  the  first-class  carriage  (there  were  only 
two  on  the  train)  and  found  one  seat  (we  were 
four)  for  H.  I  began  my  night  sitting  on  my 
valise  in  the  couloir,  but  after  a  little  while  the 
people  in  the  carriage  where  H.  was  made  room 
for  me,  and  I  got  through  the  night  fairly  com- 
fortably, though  it  is  years  since  I  have  sat  up 
straight  all  night  in  a  crowded  carriage.  I  was 
thankful  when  we  arrived  at  7.30  at  the  Gare 
Montparnasse,  and  I  hope  I  won't  have  to  take 
another  railway  journey  while  the  country  is 
under  martial  law. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER 
1914 


October  5th. 

I  have  been  ill  for  two  or  three  days.  The 
visit*  to  Mareuil  upset  me  entirely.  However,  I 
have  got  my  nerve  back.  Things  might  have 
been  worse,  and  after  the  war,  if  all  goes  well  with 
us,  it  will  be  interesting  to  reconstruct  our  house 
and  our  lives.  Nothing  can  ever  be  the  same 
again. 

After  breakfast,  I  walked  down  to  the  Embassy 
to  thank  the  Ambassador  for  having  given  us  an 
auto  and  an  officer  to  go  down  to  Mareuil.  I 
found  there  the  new  Spanish  Ambassador,  Mar- 
quis de  V.,  a  fine  soldierly-looking  old  man.  He 
remains  in  Paris,  having  stopped  a  few  days  in 
Bordeaux  to  present  his  credentials. 

They  were  both  much  interested  in  all  I  told 
them  of  the  state  in  which  I  found  my  house  and 
the  village;  and  they  rather  comforted  me,  say- 
ing that  any  troops  would  have  taken  blankets, 
coverlids,  and  saucepans  out  of  an  uninhabited 
house.  I  couldn't  have  refused  them,  naturally, 
to  our  own  soldiers;  but  they  wouldn't  have  taken 
pictures  and  silver  and  souvenirs  of  all  kinds. 

It  is  beautiful  weather.  I  enjoy  the  walk  over 
to  the  ouvroir;  should  enjoy  it  more  if  there  were 

*  This  visit  is  described  later;  see  page  130. 
107 


108  MY  WAR  DIARY 

not  occasional  Tauben  flying  about.  No  one 
seems  to  mind  them.  Every  one  runs  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  street  when  they  hear  one  coming, 
though  people  have  been  warned  to  stay  indoors. 
One  hears  them  from  a  long  distance. 

Mrs.  D.  came  in  late  to  the  ouvroir,  rather 
afraid  she  may  be  evacuee  a  second  time,  as  the 
Germans  are  unpleasantly  near  the  ambulance. 
She  carried  off  a  large  parcel  of  sheets  and  pillow- 
cases we  had  made  for  her.  I  went  to  dine  with 
her  at  the  H6tel  Crillon.  There  was  no  one  but 
ourselves  in  the  dining-room,  but  the  gerant  told 
us  there  were  several  people  in  the  house. 

They  had  an  Englishman  with  them  whose 
name  I  didn't  catch,  a  tall  man,  dressed  in  khaki, 
with  the  Red  Cross  brassard  on  his  arm.  He  had 
been  to  the  front  in  his  motor  to  look  for  his  son, 
reported  missing,  whom  he  didn't  find.  He  said 
people  were  very  kind,  trying  to  help  him,  but  that 
it  was  impossible  to  get  anywhere  near  the  front : 
all  sorts  of  vehicles,  provision-wagons,  munition, 
cannon,  and  autos — squads  of  cavalry  crowding 
on  the  roads,  which  are  getting  very  bad  and  cut 
up  with  so  much  passing;  a  few  heavy  motors 
struggling  helplessly  on  the  side  of  the  road — and 
in  the  fields. 

I  came  away  early  as  I  didn't  like  driving  about 
in  the  dark.  The  Champs  Elysees  are  scarcely 
lighted.  It  is  now  a  long,  black  avenue,  the  trees 
on  each  side  making  a  high  dark  wall. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    109 

Thursday,  October  8th. 

I  was  at  the  ouvroir  all  the  afternoon.  We 
want  now  to  make  packages  to  send  to  the  front. 
We  have  many  more  applicants  for  work  than 
we  can  employ,  and  it  is  hard  to  send  the  women 
away.  They  look  so  utterly  miserable;  but  we 
can't  increase  our  expenses.  I  stopped  at  the 
Automobile  Club  who  send  off  autos  filled  with 
warm  clothes  once  or  twice  a  week.  All  the 
packages  were  piled  up  in  the  courtyard,  and  each 
one  was  weighed,  as  they  must  not  exceed  a  cer- 
tain number  of  pounds.  There  were  all  kinds: 
An  old  woman  came  in  with  such  a  small  packet, 
wanting  to  send  it  to  her  son,  and  the  soldier  in 
charge,  a  smart-looking  young  reserviste,  was  so 
nice  with  her,  looking  to  see  if  the  name,  company, 
and  regiment  were  distinctly  marked.  I  asked 
her  what  it  was.  "Only  a  flannel  band,  Madame; 
I  have  nothing  to  send  and  he  asks  for  nothing, 
but  he  always  liked  his  flannel  belt."  They  are 
very  useful;  we  make  dozens  of  them,  some  in 
flannel,  some  knit  or  crochet. 

I  am  going  to  ask  the  women  in  our  street,  the 
epiciere  and  the  patronne  of  a  little  cafe  at  the 
corner  where  the  Croix  Rouge  employes  and 
Boy  Scouts  breakfast,  if  they  won't  knit  me 
cache-nez  and  stockings,  if  I  supply  wool  and 
needles. 

I  dined  out  to-night — a  rare  occurrence  in  these 
times — with  Sir  Henry  to  meet  Lord  and 


Ho  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Lady  R.  C.  He  is  over  here  with  the  British  Red 
Cross  Society.  There  was  also  an  English  banker 
who  is  banker  for  all  the  British  officers.  The 
talk  was  interesting.  I  really  think  the  British 
hate  the  Germans  more  than  we  do.  We  spoke 
of  old  times,  and  Hatfield,  of  course,  when  all 
were  young  men,  unmarried  and  at  home,  and  a 
very  cheerful,  united  family  party  they  were; 
and  all  so  clever.  Lord  R.  told  me  his  brother 
Edward  had  lost  his  only  son.  The  mother  came 
over  to  see  if  she  could  find  his  body.  He  was 
reported  missing  after  the  battle  of  the  Marne. 
She  went  down  to  Rheims,  made  all  sorts  of  in- 
quiries— heard  of  many  good-looking  young  Eng- 
lishmen killed — even  had  some  of  the  graves 
opened  (the  clothes  and  belongings  of  each  dead 
man  are  put  in  a  bundle  at  his  head),  but  could 
find  no  trace  of  her  boy.  She  is  one  of  a  million 
mothers  who  will  never  hear  anything  more  of 
their  sons. 

The  drive  home  is  always  disagreeable;  so  dark 
and  the  streets  so  deserted;  I  think  our  street  is 
the  darkest  of  all.  It  doesn't  seem  like  Paris  when 
one  crosses  the  avenue  du  Trocadero,  usually 
so  light  and  so  many  carriages  dashing  about, 
and  the  trams  a  long  line  of  light  which  are  seen 
at  a  great  distance.  Now  it  is  quite  black. 
Suddenly  a  figure  emerges  out  of  the  darkness, 
quite  close  to  you.  A  little  further  on  one  just 
gets  the  glint  of  the  bayonet  of  the  sentry  at  the 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    m 

foot  of  the  hill.  I  don't  believe  a  creature  has 
come  back.  There  is  no  sign  of  life;  no  lights 
anywhere.  As  long  as  the  Germans  are  still  near 
Paris  and  the  Tauben  flying  overhead,  people 
won't  come  back. 

Saturday,  ioth  October. 

It  is  beautiful  summer  weather  and  the  days 
slip  by.  We  were  quite  numerous  at  the  ouvroir 
this  afternoon.  Madame  de  Sincay,  who  is  in- 
firmiere  at  the  British  Red  Cross  hospital  installed 
at  the  H6tel  Astoria,  asked  me  for  some  "Nightin- 
gales." I  didn't  know  what  they  were,  but  the 
boys'  English  nurse  told  me:  a  loose,  sleeveless 
jacket  which  the  men  like  on  their  shoulders  when 
they  can  sit  up  in  bed  to  read  or  write.  They 
were  invented  by  the  famous  English  nurse, 
Florence  Nightingale,  in  the  Crimea,  and  called 
after  her.  We  sent  at  once  for  some  flannel,  and 
will  have  some  made  as  quickly  as  possible,  all 
the  ladies  working  hard. 

At  7  o'clock  C.  came  for  me  and  we  went  to 
dine  at  La  Rue's,  one  of  the  popular  cafes  in  the 
rue  Roy  ale,  to  see  the  aspect  of  the  boulevards  at 
night.  There  were  a  good  many  people  dining — 
a  very  good  dinner.  One  long  table  filled  with 
British  officers,  who  attracted  much  attention 
from  some  of  the  pretty  young  women,  dames 
seules,  who  were  dining  quietly  in  the  corner — 
almost  all  with  the  badge  or  brassard  of  the  Croix 


112  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Rouge.  Women  of  all  classes  have  formed  that 
society,  and  some  of  the  best  nurses  are  young 
actresses  and  dancers  from  the  Paris  theatres. 

D.  dined  with  us.  He  goes  every  day  to  the 
Jockey  Club  and  hears  their  view  of  the  way 
things  are  being  done,  and  how  now,  after  the 
first  burst  of  patriotism,  politics  are  beginning  to 
play  a  part. 

I  think  the  Government  is  doing  very  well; 
and  if  there  are  individual  cases  of  treachery  (it 
seems  an  awful  word  to  use  in  connection  with 
any  French  soldier  or  minister)  it  will  have  no 
effect  on  the  public. 

War  always  brings  out  the  best  qualities  of 
people  of  all  classes — except  the  Germans,  who 
have  developed  such  barbarity  and  cruelty  that 
we  ask  ourselves  how  they  were  ever  considered 
a  Christian,  civilised  power.  They  imposed  upon 
all  the  world  with  their  Familienleben  and  their 
sentimental  music  and  poetry. 

A  little  after  9,  the  waiters  began  to  bring  the 
hats  and  coats  of  the  diners,  and  gradually  to 
put  out  the  lights.  At  9.30  two  policemen  ap- 
peared at  the  door,  and  in  ten  minutes  the  cafe 
was  empty. 

We  walked  about  a  little,  but  the  boulevards 
were  depressing;  very  dark,  and  one  needs  as 
much  outside  light  as  possible  in  these  sad  days. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    113 

Wednesday,  October  14th. 
The  days  are  so  alike  that  one  hardly  realises 
that  the  autumn  is  slipping  away.  The  weather 
is  beautiful  still.  I  went  up  to  the  rue  de  la 
Pompe.  Maggie  is  there,  and  we  went  to  the 
hospital  installed  in  the  Lycee  Janson,  just  op- 
posite our  apartment,  to  see  an  English  soldier, 
a  nice-looking  young  fellow,  not  wounded,  but 
almost  dead  with  rheumatism  and  pneumonia. 
He  had  been  four  days  and  nights  on  his  gun 
(was  an  artilleryman),  sometimes  in  a  pouring 
rain.  He  said  everybody  was  good  to  him  at  the 
hospital,  some  ladies  even  bringing  him  tea  and 
buns  every  day.  We  promised  him  some  warm 
clothes  as  he  was  to  go  back  to  the  front  in  a  day 
or  two.  He  was  dying  to  get  on  his  gun  again 
and  have  another  shot  at  the  Germans.  Told  us 
horrors  he  had  seen;  but  said  the  Germans  were 
drunk  (he  was  near  Rheims) ;  their  officers  had  no 
control  of  them. 

Friday,  October  16th. 
Maggie  came  in  after  lunch  with  the  gunner 
who  was  to  leave  for  the  front  the  next  day.  He 
looked  better  but  delicate  still;  was  dressed  in 
the  clothes  we  gave  him,  and  had  had  a  good 
"English"  lunch  at  one  of  the  restaurants.  The 
Medecin-Chef  had  allowed  Maggie  to  take  him 
out  until  5  o'clock.  The  Mygatts  were  here,  and 
we  were  all  much  interested  in  all  he  told  us.     He 


ii4  MY  WAR  DIARY 

never  had  his  clothes  off  from  the  20th  August 
until  the  15  th  September.  His  boots  had  to  be 
cut  off,  they  were  so  hard  and  stiff.  When  they 
wanted  to  give  him  another  pair  at  the  hospital, 
he  refused  absolutely;  said  he  would  never  put 
on  boots  again — went  for  days  in  felt  slippers. 

Saturday,  October  17th. 

Our  beautiful  sun  has  gone  in.  To-day  it  is 
grey  and  damp.  Mrs.  Mygatt  and  I  went  to  see 
the  mayor  of  our  arrondissement  to  speak  about 
some  poor  women  who  wanted  work.  He  was 
not  there,  but  we  saw  a  lady,  very  important, 
who  was  in  charge  of  the  ouvrieres  sans  travail. 
She  recommended  two  women,  soldiers'  wives, 
one  a  culottiere  (woman  who  makes  trousers), 
and  the  other  a  piqueuse  de  machine  a  coudre. 
They  would  be  very  pleased  to  come  every  after- 
noon from  2  to  6  for  fr.  1.50.  Poor  things,  it  is 
nothing  for  clever  Paris  workwomen.  One  gained 
10  francs  a  day,  with  two  meals,  at  one  of  the 
good  tailors ;  the  other  about  the  same.  We  don't 
say  we  will  give  any  meals,  but  we  will  give  tea 
and  thick  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  and  later 
a  bowl  of  soup. 

Mme.  del  Marmol,  our  Belgian  friend,  came  in 
quite  happy,  poor  thing,  as  she  had  had  news  of 
her  children  in  the  country  in  Belgium,  for  the 
first  time  since  the  siege  of  Liege.  She  is  just 
starting  an  ouvroir  for  the  Belgian  women;   says 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    115 

their  misery  is  appalling;  some  of  the  children 
have  no  shirts  or  underclothes  of  any  description, 
only  a  dress  or  a  coat  over  their  skin.  One  woman 
came  to  the  ouvroir  with  her  baby,  a  month  old. 
They  put  it  in  a  basket  near  the  fire,  and  the  little 
thing  was  quite  happy  and  slept  peacefully,  all 
the  other  women  crowding  around  it.  She  says 
they  don't  complain;  seem  half  stunned  by  the 
awful  catastrophe  that  has  fallen  upon  them. 

Poor,  pretty,  smiling  little  Belgium,  with  gar- 
dens and  farms  and  thriving,  busy,  happy  popu- 
lation !  It  is  sickening  to  think  of  black  burned 
plains,  and  whole  villages  smoking  ruins ! 

Mme.  de  Sincay  came  in  about  6  o'clock  to  beg 
for  garments  for  a  military  hospital  at  Villers- 
Cotterets,  where  they  were  in  need  of  everything. 
Some  one  down  there  asked  her  if  she  knew  me; 
said  Mr.  Waddington  had  represented  so  long  that 
part  of  the  country  that  they  were  sure  I  would 
help  them.  She  carried  off  a  fine  bundle  of  flannel 
sheets,  warm  calegons,  red  flannel  ceintures,  and 
rolls  of  bandages  of  all  sizes. 

I  found  M.  sitting  with  H.  when  I  came  home. 
Her  husband  is  an  infirmier  at  the  American  Am- 
bulance, works  there  every  day  from  8  in  the 
morning  until  7  at  night.  She  says  he  is  tired 
out,  stoops  like  an  old  man;  has  his  dinner  as 
soon  as  he  comes  in,  and  goes  at  once  to  bed. 
She  had  just  seen  her  eldest  boy  (22),  who  is  in 
a  French  cuirassier  regiment.     He  is  a  Russian 


n6  MY  WAR  DIARY 

subject,  was  in  Canada  when  the  war  broke  out, 
and  couldn't  get  back  in  time  to  enlist  in  a  Rus- 
sian regiment,  so  joined  the  French  army,  as  did 
the  son  of  Istolsky,  Russian  Ambassador  in  France, 
who  was  also  too  late  to  get  to  Russia. 

Sunday,  October  18th. 

There  was  an  innovation  in  the  American  church 
this  morning — almost  all  the  boys  and  young  men 
of  the  choir  have  been  called  away  either  as  sol- 
diers or  scouts,  and  they  are  replaced  by  girls 
dressed  in  black  with  white  surplices,  and  little 
white  caps  on  their  heads,  only  a  few  older  men 
remaining. 

We  had  a  few  visits  in  the  afternoon.  Mrs. 
Watson,  the  rector's  wife,  came  late.  She  was  most 
interesting,  telling  curious  stories  of  Americans  of 
all  classes  stranded  here  at  the  beginning  of  the 
war.  The  Ambassador  and  Mrs.  Herrick,  Sir 
H.  L.,  and  Pauline  de  B.  dined.  Lt.  G.,  the 
young  officer  who  took  me  down  to  Mareuil,  came 
in  after  dinner.  Lt.  G.  had  just  come  back  from 
the  front,  where  he  had  picked  up  wounded  and 
brought  them  back  to  the  hospital.  He  said 
shells  were  flying  about  in  a  pretty  lively  manner. 

The  Harjes  have  done  a  most  generous  thing: 
fitted  out  and  equipped  entirely — nurses,  doctors, 
and  ambulance — a  field-hospital  in  a  chateau 
close  to  the  firing-line.  Everything  is  arranged 
so  that  the  whole  hospital  can  move  on  to  an- 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    117 

other  place  in  two  hours,  if  there  came  a  serious 
attack. 

I  thought  the  Ambassador  looked  tired;  he 
does  so  much  and  sees  so  many  people — not  only 
his  own  colony,  but  many  of  his  colleagues,  who 
go  to  him  for  advice. 

He  is  reading  the  life  of  Washburne,  who  was 
United  States  Minister  here  in  1870/and  remained 
in  Paris  all  through  the  siege  and  the  Commune. 
He  said  it  was  most  interesting  to  read  it  just 
now,  when  he  was  doing  the  same  thing,  but  under 
such  different  circumstances. 

Tuesday,  October  20th. 

A.  H.  came  to  breakfast  this  morning,  and  we 
went  after  breakfast  to  see  Mrs.  W.  at  the  rectory. 
She  had  promised  to  show  us  her  ouvroir.  I  had 
never  been  inside  of  the  house.  It  is  pretty  and 
original,  very  comfortable  for  two  people.  No 
clergyman  with  a  family  could  get  into  it.  She 
showed  us  some  of  the  up-stairs  rooms  over  the 
church,  which  had  been  most  useful  at  the  time 
of  the  American  invasion,  as  they  had  put  beds 
and  mattresses  everywhere,  in  the  library,  in  the 
corridor,  and  even  in  the  cloisters.  The  weather 
was  so  warm  and  beautiful  all  those  first  days  of 
the  war. 

The  ouvroir  was  very  well  arranged,  a  large 
light  room  —  cupboards  all  around  the  walls; 
about  twenty  women,  all  French,  working  at  a 


Ii8  MY  WAR  DIARY 

long  table,  some  by  hand,  some  with  sewing-ma- 
chines. There  were  two  women  in  charge — a  sur- 
veillante  who  gave  out  and  examined  the  work, 
and  another  who  had  the  caisse,  received  any 
money  that  came,  and  paid  the  women.  It  was 
most  orderly.  In  some  of  the  cupboards  were  all 
sorts  of  clothes,  both  men's  and  women's,  sent 
in  trunks  to  Mrs.  W.  by  people  who  were  go- 
ing back  to  America  and  were  willing  to  leave 
their  contents  for  less  fortunate  compatriots  who 
couldn't  get  away  with  the  first  rush,  and  who  had 
no  clothes  except  what  they  had  on  their  backs. 

Most  of  the  useful  things  had  been  given  away, 
but  there  were  still  some  evening  cloaks,  one  or 
two  pretty  dresses  with  fichus  and  sashes,  fancy 
shoes  and  blouses,  and  petticoats  with  lace  and 
embroidery.  Mrs.  W.  told  me  that  one  woman 
carried  off  a  pair  of  white  satin  slippers.  She 
rather  protested,  thought  it  foolish,  but  the  woman 
persisted.  She  returned  three  or  four  days  after- 
ward with  a  pair  of  nice  black  shoes  on.  She 
had  covered  the  white  satin  slippers  with  some 
black  stuff,  and  had  a  very  neat  pair  of  shoes. 

We  carried  off  some  patterns,  a  plastron,  and 
some  loose  stockings  to  go  over  swollen  or  band- 
aged feet.  Nothing  is  lost  in  the  ouvroir.  They 
use  the  selvage  as  it  is  cut  off  the  flannel.  It 
makes  strong  twine  to  tie  up  packages. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    119 

Wednesday,  October  21st. 

There  is  very  little  war  news.  I  wonder  if  it 
is  right  to  keep  the  public  in  such  ignorance. 
The  Germans  have  not  succeeded  in  getting  either 
Calais  or  Dunkirk,  but  we  haven't  dislodged  them 
from  their  trenches  near  Soissons,  and  as  long  as 
they  are  in  France  one  can't  breathe  freely. 

I  went  with  the  M.'s  this  afternoon  to  visit  a 
hospital  of  the  Petites  Sceurs  des  Pauvres  in  the 
rue  Lafayette,  near  the  Gare  du  Nord.  We  passed 
a  house  which  had  been  destroyed  by  bombs 
dropped  from  a  German  Taube.  Roof,  windows, 
facade  gone,  a  crowd  in  front  of  it.  The  hospital 
looked  very  peaceful  and  well  ordered  in  a  convent 
on  one  side  of  a  big  courtyard.  The  church  at 
the  bottom.  The  Supeneure,  a  good,  kind,  help- 
ful woman,  took  us  into  the  wards.  They  only 
have  twenty  beds — as  they  have  very  little  room 
and  no  surgical  cases,  for  they  have  no  surgeons  or 
doctors  in  permanent  attendance.  They  are  very 
poor;  depend  entirely  upon  what  people  will  give 
them.  When  the  first  wounded  came  they  had 
nothing — gave  up  their  own  beds,  and  made  first 
bandages  out  of  their  own  chemises. 

We  saw  one  young  officer  with  his  right  arm  am- 
putated— twenty-eight  years  old — with  a  wife  and 
child,  another  one  on  the  way.  He  had  been 
moved  there  as  soon  as  possible  after  his  operation. 
I  stopped  to  talk  to  him  a  little  when  the  party 
moved  on.     I  am  very  shy  about  talking  to  the 


120  MY  WAR  DIARY 

men.  I  think  they  must  hate  a  party  of  sight- 
seers, who  come  to  inspect  the  hospital  and  say 
a  few  banal  words  to  each  man.  He  looked  so 
sad,  I  said  to  him:  "It  is  melancholy  to  see  you 
like  this  at  your  age."  "I  don't  complain,  Ma- 
dame, it  might  be  worse:  I  am  glad  to  have  been 
able  to  serve  my  country;  but  I  am  a  cripple  for 
life."  The  Mere  Superieure  told  me  his  wife 
didn't  know  yet  that  his  arm  had  been  cut  off. 
They  were  going  to  tell  her  the  next  morning.  I 
said:  "Don't  tell  her  yet,  poor  thing,  in  the  state 
she  is  in;  wait  until  her  baby  is  born."  But  the 
good  nun  answered,  putting  her  hand  on  my 
arm:  "Oh,  yes,  Madame,  she  must  be  told;  she 
must  bear  her  cross  like  so  many  women  in  France 
to-day.  She  must  be  thankful  to  have  him  back 
even  a  cripple;  many  women  will  never  see  their 
husbands  again." 

I  was  haunted  all  night  by  the  poor  fellow's 
eyes,  so  big  in  his  white,  drawn  face. 

Saturday,  October  24th. 
Our  work  is  going  on  well.  The  mayor  sends 
us  women  every  day,  but  we  can't  employ  all, 
and  it  is  hard  to  send  them  away.  Some  of  the 
women  who  asked  at  first  to  work  at  home  have 
now  asked  to  come  to  the  workroom,  where  they 
have  fire,  lights,  and  company.  Usually  nine  or 
ten  French  girls  working  together  chatter  all  the 
time;  but  now  one  scarcely  hears  a  word  except 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    121 

something  to  do  with  the  work.  They  all  look 
sad,  and  what  is  worse,  they  all  look  hungry.  I 
suppose  a  good  bowl  of  cafe  au  lait  and  a  slice  of 
bread  helps  a  little,  but  it  isn't  a  meal  for  work- 
ing, growing  girls. 

We  have  had  no  Taube  for  several  days,  but 
French  aeroplanes  are  always  hovering  over  Paris 
— which  of  course  the  Germans  know,  as  they 
know  everything.  They  are  bombarding  Lille 
and  Arras.  Soon  northern  and  eastern  France 
will  be  as  completely  devastated  as  Belgium. 

Sunday,  October  25th. 
I  didn't  go  out  at  all  to-day,  though  the  sun 
was  shining  brightly.  We  had  visitors  all  the 
afternoon,  and  Mrs.  B.  and  Lord  W.  dined  with 
us.  Lord  W.  had  brought  our  despatches  and 
had  been  to  the  front;  said  everybody  seemed 
quite  satisfied,  but  all  the  same  the  fighting  in 
the  north  is  terrible,  and  the  wounds  ghastly. 
Some  of  the  German  prisoners  tell  stories  of  hunger 
and  of  being  forced  to  fight,  and  show  no  enthu- 
siasm for  the  war  or  the  Kaiser.  But  the  officers 
as  a  rule  are  reserved  and  arrogant.  There  is 
always  a  note  of  gaiety  even  in  these  tragic  days, 
when  one  talks  of  the  Kaiser  and  his  intimate  re- 
lations with  God.  An  Englishman  who  happened 
to  be  at  Potsdam  on  Good  Friday,  was  surprised 
to  see  the  Imperial  flag  on  the  Palace  at  half- 
mast — hadn't  seen  in  the  papers  that  any  member 


122  MY  WAR  DIARY 

of  the  Royal  Family  was  dead.  He  asked  the 
driver  (of  the  fiacre  he  was  in)  what  it  meant; 
who  was  dead  ?  The  man  grinned,  and  pointing 
to  the  flag,  remarked:  "Familientrauer"  (family 
mourning). 

Monday,  October  26th. 

The  weather  is  beautiful,  and  there  are  a  few 
more  people  about  in  the  daytime,  but  the  streets 
are  melancholy  at  night,  quite  dark  and  deserted. 
When  we  come  back  late — 7  o'clock — from  the 
ouvroir,  we  generally  come  en  bande,  walking; 
but  if  it  rains,  we  take  a  taxi  between  us,  which 
takes  each  one  home.  Everybody  walks;  no  one 
has  a  carriage.  There  are  only  Red  Cross  and 
military  autos. 

Mme.  Marchand  came  to  tea  with  us,  and  we 
promised  to  send  her  a  packet  for  the  front  where 
her  husband  has  a  command.  He  has  many 
Turcos  in  his  brigade,  and  says  they  are  shiver- 
ing. Poor  fellows !  how  will  they  ever  stand  the 
real  cold  weather  when  the  winter  begins? 

Very  nice-looking  women  came  to  ask  for  wood 
this  afternoon,  one  with  such  good  manners, 
looking  and  speaking  like  a  lady,  implored  us  to 
not  send  her  away.  We  gave  her  some  work. 
She  told  the  caissiere  she  hadn't  50  centimes  in 
her  purse. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    123 

Thursday,  October  29th. 

B.  and  M.  came  in  this  morning.  They  are 
installing  an  ambulance  in  their  chateau,  which 
means  putting  in  chauflage  central — extra  bath- 
rooms and  various  other  changes  so  that  for  the 
moment  the  house  is  not  habitable — as  B.  says 
there  are  holes  in  the  walls  everywhere — they  are 
in  Paris  for  a  few  days. 

She  read  me  a  charming  letter  from  J.  (my 
godson)  who  is  corporal  in  a  regiment  of  cuiras- 
siers somewhere  in  Belgium.  She  didn't  know 
where,  as  the  soldiers  are  not  allowed  to  put  any 
address  on  their  letters,  but  "at  the  front." 
When  he  wrote,  he  was  acting  as  interpreter  for 
the  British.  He  says  they  are  wonderfully 
equipped,  have  plenty  of  warm  clothes  and  excel- 
lent food.  He  had  tea  with  them  sometimes  in 
the  trenches,  and  they  gave  him  some  jam. 
Half  of  his  regiment  is  now  a  pied  in  the  trenches, 
as  they  have  no  more  horses.  There  is  nothing 
for  the  cavalry  to  do  now.  Their  turn  will  come 
when  the  Germans  retreat,  and  we  drive  them 
out  of  France.  Those  who  are  dressed  for  it 
manage  pretty  well,  but  he  is  still  in  his  cuiras- 
sier's uniform,  high  boots,  spurs,  cloak  and  casque, 
and  doesn't  find  that  very  convenient  for  crouch- 
ing in  the  trenches.  As  he  is  very  tall — over  six 
feet — the  trenches  are  not  much  of  a  shelter  for 
him. 

He  says,  as  they  all  do,  that  the  British  fight 


124  MY  WAR  DIARY 

like  lions;  but  they  are  most  independent;  can't 
stay  in  the  trenches.  When  they  hear  the  noise 
of  any  explosion,  they  start  up  and  get  killed  at 
once. 

I  went  to  the  Embassy  for  a  few  minutes  after 
breakfast;  found  people  there,  of  course.  They 
keep  open  house  always;  have  people  lunching 
and  dining.  Dr.  H.  was  there,  who  was  American 
Ambassador  in  Berlin  some  years  ago.  I  asked 
him  if  he  wasn't  surprised  at  the  brutality  of  the 
Germans.  He  said  he  couldn't  understand  them, 
above  all  the  Kaiser.  He  had  often  talked  to 
him  about  all  sorts  of  things ;  found  him  intelligent, 
well-informed,  with  a  strong  sense  of  his  position 
and  responsibilities.  He  had  raised  his  country 
to  such  a  height  of  prosperity ;  everything — army, 
navy,  commerce,  colonies,  so  firmly  established — 
that  it  seemed  incredible  he  should  have  sacri- 
ficed it  all  for  his  own  insane  ambition. 

Mrs.  Herrick  had  a  charming  letter  from  Queen 
Mary,  thanking  her  for  all  she  had  done  for 
British  people.  It  was  a  pretty,  womanly  letter. 
Both  she  and  the  Ambassador  will  have  many 
more  before  the  war  ends.  Their  staying  here 
through  all  the  darkest  days  will  never  be  for- 
gotten. The  big  gates  and  doors  of  the  Embassy 
were  always  wide  open,  and  there  was  a  continu- 
ous stream  of  people  pouring  in,  asking  for  advice 
and  help. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    125 

Saturday,  October  31st. 

Always  the  same  meagre  war  news,  but  one 
feels  that  things  are  going  well  with  us.  I  have 
again  letters  from  the  cur£  of  Mareuil  and  Mme. 
Gaillard,  my  concierge,  begging  me  to  come  down. 
Mme.  G.  says  she  has  soldiers  quartered  always 
at  the  house,  and  that  they  are  very  exacting, 
must  have  fires  of  course  ("Madame  sait  comme 
le  bois  est  cher"),  and  would  like  blankets — but 
as  the  Germans  took  all  mine,  I  can't  give  them 
any.  I  must  take  some  down  when  I  go.  This 
is  the  list  of  the  necessary  things  I  must  bring 
down,  Mme.  G.  says:  Coal,  petroleum,  lamps, 
candles,  table-cloths,  napkins,  towels,  blankets, 
china,  knives,  forks,  spoons,  sugar  and  salt, 
pillows — batterie  de  cuisine.  She  hasn't  got  a 
kettle  or  a  saucepan  in  the  kitchen.  Also,  will  I 
bring  down  some  warm  clothes  for  the  women 
and  children?  People  have  been  very  kind  in 
sending  me  clothes.  Mrs.  Watson  sent  me  a 
good  package  from  her  ouvroir,  and  I  will  take 
some  men's  shirts  from  mine. 

They  also  write  from  La  Fert6-Milon  for  hos- 
pital shirts,  warm  clothes,  and  bandages.  The 
sisters  have  wounded  men  at  the  Hdtel-Dieu,  and 
very  few  resources.  La  Ferte  was  occupied  by  the 
Germans,  and  the  town  had  to  pay  a  heavy  in- 
demnity to  prevent  them  from  bombarding  and 
destroying  their  beautiful  churches. 


126  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Monday,  November  2nd 
(Jour  des  Morts). 

We  have  had  two  beautiful  days,  and  I  have 
been  so  homesick  for  Mareuil.  The  Toussaint  is 
such  an  important  day  in  our  little  village.  Early 
in  the  morning  the  children  come  to  get  flowers 
to  decorate  the  church  and  the  tombs.  I  seemed 
to  hear  the  clatter  of  sabots  and  the  shrill  voices 
of  the  children  as  they  trooped  into  the  court- 
yard, and  to  smell  the  chrysanthemums  which 
they  carried  off  in  quantities.  Then  came  the 
sacristain  with  two  choir-boys,  carrying  with  much 
pomp  the  pain  benit  we  always  gave  on  that  day 
« — an  erection  of  brioches,  going  up  in  a  pyramid, 
with  a  wreath  of  flowers  at  the  base.  The  church 
was  always  full  the  next  day  (Les  Morts).  I  never 
went.  The  black  draperies  and  funeral  service,  and 
the  names  of  all  who  died  in  the  year  read  out, 
made  such  an  impression  upon  me  the  only  time 
I  went,  that  it  left  a  haunting  memory  that  lasted 
for  weeks  every  time  I  went  to  the  church.  But 
I  always  went  to  the  cemetery,  after  the  service, 
and  stood  with  the  village  people  who  were  pray- 
ing for  their  dead.  It  never  seems  quite  the 
same  day  in  the  city. 

Wednesday,  November  4th. 
We  are  going  to  Mareuil  to-morrow.     Maggie 
will  go  down  with  me.     We  were  busy  making  our 
packets  all  the  morning,  and  went  in  the  after- 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    127 

noon  to  get  my  sauf-conduit.  They  always  make 
a  difficulty  about  it.  My  pieces  d'identite  are 
not  sufficient.  They  want  my  certificat  de  ma- 
nage, which  is  at  Mareuil — and  are  most  unwilling 
to  give  any  sauf-conduit  for  a  village  in  the  war 
zone.  I  wanted  to  get  a  permanent  pass  from 
the  Governor  of  Paris,  but  he  won't  give  me  that, 
as  I  am  not  connected  with  a  hospital  or  am- 
bulance at  the  front. 

Mareuil,  Thursday,  November  5th,  1014. 

I  am  writing  in  my  own  room,  in  one  corner  of 
our  house  which  has  been  disinfected  and  thor- 
oughly cleaned.  The  servants  have  made  it  as 
comfortable  as  they  could  with  the  chairs  and 
tables  the  Boches  have  left  me.  I  have  an  excel- 
lent lamp  which  I  brought  down  with  me,  and  a 
bright,  crackling  wood-fire,  with  pieces  of  wood 
about  as  big  as  matches  which  come  from  the 
saw-mill  opposite.  The  little  girl  brings  them  in 
her  apron.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  fully  real- 
ised what  the  German  occupation  meant,  and  how 
much  can  be  taken  out  of  a  house,  and  how  much 
dirt  left  in  in  eight  days. 

Mareuil  is  a  peaceful,  sleepy  little  village  of 
about  five  hundred  inhabitants,  in  the  heart  of 
the  great  farming  country  of  France.  It  is  directly 
on  the  highroad  between  Meaux  and  Soissons, 
about  twenty  miles  from  each.  It  is  surrounded  by 
big  farms  and  woods.    The  fields  stretch  away  to 


128  MY  WAR  DIARY 

the  horizon,  on  one  side;  on  the  other  to  the 
great  forest  of  Villers-Cotterets.  There  are  no 
local  industries,  no  factories;  the  men  work  in  the 
fields  and  woods.  The  women  do  nothing  but 
look  after  their  houses  and  children. 

Of  course  all  the  men,  except  the  old  ones,  left 
in  the  first  days  of  the  mobilisation.  My  daugh- 
ter-in-law with  her  two  boys,  aged  eight  and  nine, 
had  remained  in  the  house. 

The  farmer  next  door  and  the  miller  promised 
to  look  after  the  women  of  the  family,  and  the 
month  passed  quietly  enough.  Toward  the  end, 
there  were  rumours  of  the  Germans  having  broken 
through  the  "wall  of  steel,"  and  small  parties  of 
Uhlans  were  said  to  be  hovering  about  Rheims 
and  Laon,  also  armed  autos  were  reported  dashing 
through  the  villages,  firing  at  every  one  they  met. 

Suddenly  on  Saturday  night,  the  29th  of  August, 
Charlotte  was  told  she  must  leave  the  next  day 
as  early  as  possible.  The  village  was  to  be 
evacue  by  ordre  militaire — every  one  to  leave, 
mayor,  Conseil  Municipal,  cure,  women.  They 
spent  Saturday  night  hiding  all  the  valuables  they 
could — papers,  medals,  etc.,  and  left  at  7  o'clock 
Sunday  morning,  with  the  greatest  difficulty. 
The  train  was  crowded  with  refugees  and  wounded 
soldiers.  They  could  not  have  got  seats  even  in 
one  of  the  fourgons  (baggage-wagons)  if  our  chef 
de  gare  had  not  insisted. 

They  had  an  awful  journey,  taking  fourteen 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    129 

hours  to  travel  a  distance  which  usually  takes  two. 
They  were  shunted  at  almost  all  the  stations,  to 
make  way  for  military  trains  going  to  the  front, 
filled  with  soldiers  cheering  and  singing.  The  pas- 
sengers got  out,  and  the  wounded  were  attended 
to,  sometimes  on  the  roadside,  sometimes  at  the 
stations.  At  Meaux  there  was  an  ambulance  of 
the  Croix  Rouge,  the  nurses  dressing  the  wounds, 
giving  food  to  the  soldiers  and  refugees,  children 
frightened  and  crying. 

The  whole  party  were  exhausted  when  they 
got  to  Paris,  but  a  night's  sleep  restored  them, 
and  they  started  the  next  morning  for  Tours  by 
automobiles. 

I  was  glad  to  see  them  out  of  Paris,  which  was 
no  place  for  children  with  the  great  heat,  and 
Tauben  going  about.  I  wanted  to  come  straight 
down  here.  I  had  a  feeling  of  shirking  responsibil- 
ity, and  leaving  the  village  to  its  fate,  which  was 
very  disagreeable  to  me;  but  all  my  friends  pro- 
tested vigorously ;  besides,  I  could  not  get  a  pass 
to  go  directly  into  the  fighting  zone.  I  was  very 
uncomfortable,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 
I  heard  nothing  for  weeks,  but  gathered  from  the 
communiques,  and  the  few  people  one  saw  who 
knew  anything,  that  fierce  fighting  was  going  on 
in  that  part  of  the  country — chateaux,  houses, 
and  villages  sacked  and  burnt.  It  wasn't  pos- 
sible we  should  escape  with  our  house  standing 
so  invitingly  on  the  highroad. 


i3o  MY  WAR  DIARY 

About  the  end  of  September,  we  heard  through 
a  friend  who  had  been  there,  that  our  house  was 
completely  sacked,  the  four  walls  standing,  but 
everything  taken  out  of  it. 

We  had  gone  to  the  country,  to  a  quiet  little 
village  in  the  Sarthe  for  three  weeks,  but  as  soon 
as  I  got  back  to  Paris  I  determined  to  come  down 
here.  It  wasn't  easy — impossible  by  rail,  as  the 
bridges  were  blown  up  and  no  private  conveyances 
were  allowed  on  the  road.  I  applied  to  Ambas- 
sador Herrick,  who,  as  usual,  did  all  he  could  to 
help  me,  and  gave  me  one  of  his  automobiles  with 
a  young  American  officer  as  escort,  Lt.  G.  I 
asked  the  Tiflanys  to  come  too,  as  they  had 
stayed  so  recently  at  Mareuil,  and  Olive  and 
Charlotte  had  moved  all  the  furniture  and  pic- 
tures and  rearranged  the  rooms.  We  started 
about  9.30,  couldn't  get  a  sauf-conduit  all  the 
way  to  Mareuil,  only  to  the  next  village,  but  Lt. 
G.  said  he  would  certainly  bring  us  here,  and  he 
did.  The  journey  from  Paris  to  Meaux  was 
almost  normal,  except  for  the  absolute  lack  of 
traffic  or  movement  of  any  kind.  There  were 
the  same  long  stretches  of  straight  white  roads, 
bordered  with  rows  of  poplars  which  always 
mark  the  highroads  in  France.  Nothing  passing 
but  military  autos,  long  trains  of  munition  and 
provision  wagons,  and  ambulances  with  wounded 
soldiers.  The  villages  were  empty,  a  few  very- 
old  men,  women,  and  children  standing  in  the 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    131 

doorways  or  at  the  well,  the  resort  of  all  the 
women  in  the  country  when  they  want  to  gossip 
a  little.  No  one  in  the  fields,  no  sign  of  life,  and 
above  all,  no  sounds  of  life.  No  loud  talking,  nor 
singing,  nor  whistling. 

Meaux  looked  just  the  same,  the  beautiful  old 
cathedral  untouched,  and  the  old  mills  on  the 
river  intact.  I  was  afraid  they  had  gone.  They 
are  so  picturesque,  built  on  a  bridge.  Every  one 
goes  to  see  them;  they  are  quite  a  feature  of 
Meaux.     The  other  bridges  were  destroyed. 

About  half-way  between  Meaux  and  Mareuil 
we  began  to  see  signs  of  fighting;  all  the  big  trees 
down,  their  branches  blown  off,  lying  on  the  road 
— roofless  houses,  holes  and  gaps  in  stone  walls, 
fields  cut  up  and  trampled  over,  barricades  across 
the  roads,  trenches  and  mounds  in  the  fields,  a 
few  dead  horses.  Soldiers  everywhere,  the  whole 
road  guarded. 

We  were  stopped  once  or  twice,  but  the  officer's 
pass  and  the  Embassy  carriage  were  all-powerful, 
and  we  came  straight  to  our  gates.  From  the 
outside  one  saw  nothing  changed.  The  four 
walls  were  intact,  the  iron  gates  standing,  but 
inside  .   .   . 

We  had  not  been  able  to  send  word  to  the  con- 
cierge, neither  telegraph  nor  telephone  worked 
(don't  yet  for  civilians),  and  the  post  was  most 
irregular.  She  heard  the  auto  and  came  to  the 
gates,  not  knowing  who  it  was.     The  poor  woman 


132  MY  WAR  DIARY 

looked  twenty  years  older.  She  and  her  son,  a 
boy  of  eighteen,  had  gone  away  with  all  the  village. 
Sometimes  a  farmer's  wife  would  give  her  a  lift, 
but  mostly  she  walked,  for  miles,  weary  and  foot- 
sore, sleeping  in  the  fields,  under  the  hedges,  occa- 
sionally in  a  barn;  no  clothes  but  what  they  had 
on  their  backs,  and  hardly  anything  to  eat,  fright- 
ened to  death,  seeing  a  Uhlan  in  every  creature 
that  passed,  and  tormenting  herself  as  to  what 
was  going  on  at  home.  She  was  so  agitated  at 
first  that  I  could  do  nothing  with  her — assuring 
me  that  she  had  not  deserted  the  place,  that  she 
only  left  when  all  the  village  did.  I  comforted 
her  as  well  as  I  could.  After  all  I  had  not  come 
down  myself  to  set  the  example,  and  could  not 
expect  others  to  do  what  I  didn't  do. 

We  began  our  tournee  d 'inspection  at  once. 
In  the  garage  Jean  Sallandrouze's  auto  had  been 
taken,  our's  left,  but  smashed.  It  seemed  they 
could  not  make  it  go  at  once,  so  they  broke  it. 
They  had  also  left  a  light  trotting  wagon. 

The  inside  of  the  house  was  a  desolation.  It 
had  been  cleaned — four  women  working  hard. 
Mme.  G.  said  the  dirt  and  smells  were  something 
awful.  The  bedding  was  in  a  filthy  state.  For 
twenty -four  hours  after  they  had  begun  to  clean, 
they  couldn't  eat  anything.  "Si  Madame  avait 
vu  la  salete,  jamais  plus  Madame  n'aurait  mis 
pied  a  la  maison!" 

Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  that  Madame  didn't 
see  all,  as  the  actual  state  was  bad  enough. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    133 

She  had  sent  me  by  a  messenger  a  first  state- 
ment of  what  was  missing.  Everything  in  the 
kitchen  (except  the  range,  which  they  couldn't 
move),  twenty-nine  lamps,  china,  silver,  forks, 
spoons,  and  a  tea-pot  that  were  forgotten  in  the 
hurry  of  moving,  glass,  sheets,  and  blankets,  cover- 
lids, pillows,  rugs,  pictures,  old  English  engrav- 
ings, family  miniatures,  linen — all  my  son's  and 
daughter's  clothes;  and  what  they  did  not  take 
they  spoilt.  A  satin  dress  and  lace  dress  of  C.'s 
on  the  floor  with  great  cuts  in  them. 

They  evidently  were  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind 
— took  all  the  useful,  solid  things,  cloth  dresses, 
cloaks,  two  excellent  Burberry  waterproofs,  canes. 
They  took  the  billiard-balls,  broke  most  of  the 
cues,  but  did  not  break  the  table — neither  the 
piano,  an  Erard  grand.  I  rather  expected  to 
see  it  standing  out  in  the  fields,  as  some  of  my 
friends  found  theirs. 

In  the  drawing-room  chairs  and  tables  were 
broken,  drawers  pulled  out,  their  contents  scat- 
tered over  the  floor,  quantities  of  papers  and 
letters  torn.  I  hadn't  time  that  day  to  verify — 
put  them  all  in  a  box  up-stairs. 

Mme.  G.  had  left  two  rooms,  C.'s  boudoir  and 
Francis'  dressing-room  just  as  she  found  them 
when  she  came  back  after  her  ten  days'  wandering. 
The  floors  were  covered  up  to  our  ankles  with 
papers  and  books.  In  some  of  the  books  pages 
were  torn  out  in  the  middle — such  useless,  wanton 
destruction. 


i34  MY  WAR  DIARY 

I  had  no  time  to  look  into  everything,  but  of 
course  I  went  all  over  the  house.  Some  of  the 
hiding-places  had  not  been  discovered.  We  found 
the  silver  and  some  old  china  just  where  C.  had 
hidden  it.  It  seems  the  officers  slept  in  the 
house,  the  men  on  straw  in  the  garage.  The 
names  Schneider,  Reisnach,  etc.,  were  written  on 
the  doors  of  the  bedrooms,  and  on  the  shutters 
of  the  drawing-room,  in  German  writing,  "Ge- 
schaftszimmer" — with  the  names  and  number  of 
the  regiment.  In  another  part,  "zwanzig  Man- 
ner." I  told  Mme.  G.  to  leave  the  writing  so 
that  when  Francis  comes  back — if  he  comes  back 
— he  can  see  in  what  state  the  Germans  left  his 
house. 

After  we  had  been  through  the  house,  Mme. 
G.  weeping  alongside  of  me,  and  telling  me  all 
she  had  gone  through,  we  went  into  the  garden, 
which  was  too  awful.  They  had  kept  their  horses 
there.  Lawns  and  flower-beds  all  trampled  over 
and  destroyed,  a  few  climbing  roses  left  on  the 
walls. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  a  clear  blue  sky,  yet  all 
the  time  we  heard  the  rumbling  of  thunder.  I 
said  to  the  young  officer:  "How  extraordinary  to 
hear  thunder  with  that  cloudless  summer  sky!" 
"Don't  you  know  what  it  is,  Madame? — cannon 
— about  twenty  miles  away." 

I  had  visits  from  the  cure,  the  mayor,  and  one 
of  the   conseillers  municipaux — all  full  of  their 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    135 

exodus  and  the  weary  days  and  nights  of  tramp- 
ing along  the  road. 

No  other  house  in  the  village  seems  to  have 
been  treated  like  mine — except  the  poor  peasants', 
where  they  stole  and  broke  everything.  When  a 
French  peasant  marries  his  first  investment  is  a 
large  wooden  bedstead  and  armoire,  which  is  the 
pride  of  his  heart.  These  the  Boches  couldn't 
carry  away,  but  they  broke  them  up  for  firewood, 
and  carried  off  every  poor  little  pot  and  pan  they 
possessed. 

The  women  are  sleeping  on  straw.  I  made  a 
turn  in  the  village,  went  into  the  two  shops. 
Nothing  left — empty  shelves,  the  floors  still  cov- 
ered with  the  remnants  of  broken  pots  of  cereals, 
pates,  dried  fruit,  grains  of  all  kinds,  the  en- 
tire stock  of  a  country  shop.  The  women  were 
standing  about  helplessly,  not  knowing  what 
to  do. 

I  saw  a  pile  of  berets  and  jerseys  in  one  corner ; 
was  surprised  they  had  left  anything  so  useful; 
when  I  touched  them  they  all  fell  apart,  had  been 
cut  and  slashed  in  every  direction — again  such 
useless  destruction. 

No  harm  was  done  to  the  church,  a  fine  old 
twelfth-century  specimen,  and  no  houses  burned 
nor  shelled.  The  outside  intact  everywhere,  but 
everything  gone  inside. 

The  mayor  was  very  blue,  and  I  don't  know 
how  we  shall  get  through  the  winter  with  all  these 


136  MY  WAR  DIARY 

women  and  children,  with  no  work  nor  money, 
and  no  clothes. 

We  started  back  about  5  o'clock,  so  as  not  to 
be  too  late  on  the  road,  and  the  impression  was 
melancholy;  such  intense  stillness,  as  if  the  war- 
cloud  was  hanging  low  over  us.  We  met  three 
or  four  farm-wagons  between  Mareuil  and  Meaux, 
with  women  and  children,  and  odd  bits  of  furni- 
ture— poor  people  going  back  sadly  to  their  homes. 

It  was  tragic  to  see  some  of  the  villages  we 
passed  through — Vareddes,  May,  etc. — the  black, 
roofless  cottages  told  their  own  tale,  as  well  as 
the  mounds  in  the  fields  where  many  soldiers  are 
buried.  Little  is  left  of  the  peaceful,  happy  little 
hamlets  we  know  so  well;  no  more  women  stand- 
ing smiling  at  the  doors  of  their  cottages,  nor  men 
ploughing  the  fields  with  their  fine  teams  of  big 
white  oxen — utter  desolation  everywhere ! 

I  promised  to  come  down  again  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, but  I  could  not  manage  it  until  to-day.  I 
could  not  come  alone;  was  obliged  to  wait  until 
I  could  find  some  one  willing  to  go  into  the  "war 
zone,"  and  was  not  sure  if  the  railway  would 
accept  the  quantity  of  luggage  I  would  have. 
Everything  had  to  be  brought  from  Paris.  I 
couldn't  come  by  our  usual  line,  the  Est,  as  the 
bridges  are  not  yet  mended,  and  the  journey  was 
much  longer  by  the  Nord.  I  went  to  the  Gare 
du  Nord,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  the 
necessary  information.     I  found   a  capable,   in- 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    137 

telligent  woman,  however  (there  are,  of  course, 
numbers  of  women  employed  at  all  the  gares,  as 
the  men  have  all  gone).  She  was  much  inter- 
ested in  my  journey  down  to  a  village  which  had 
been  devastated  by  the  Germans,  and  we  found 
that  I  could  take  as  much  luggage  as  I  wanted,  if 
I  could  get  a  sauf -conduit,  which  she  seemed  to 
think  doubtful. 

I  did  have  some  trouble  with  the  Commissaire 
de  Police,  who  didn't  at  all  want  to  give  me  a 
sauf-conduit,  and  was  not  satisfied  with  my  pieces 
d'identite.  I  hadn't  got  my  certificat  de  mariage, 
which  is  at  Mareuil.  When  he  finally  made  up 
his  mind  that  I  was  Mme.  Waddington,  he  still 
hesitated  to  give  me  the  sauf-conduit.  "Mais, 
Madame,  pourquoi  aller  a  Mareuil;  it  is  abso- 
lutely in  the  zone  militaire;  it  is  no  place  for 
women — it  is  not  really  reasonable  to  go  there." 
And  when  I  insisted  again  on  going:  "But  why 
do  you  want  to  go  just  now?"  "Because,  Mon- 
sieur, I  live  there;  my  house  has  been  completely 
sacked,  so  has  the  entire  village.  I  must  go  down 
and  take  clothes  and  provisions  to  the  poor 
people." 

That  mollified  him  a  little,  and  he  made  out 
the  paper  grumbling  to  himself  all  the  time,  say- 
ing when  he  finally  handed  it  to  me:  "I  really 
ought  not  to  give  it  to  you.  It.  is  no  time  for 
women  to  travel  about  in  that  part  of  the  country 
— and  at  your  age." 


138  MY  WAR  DIARY 

We  started  this  morning.  Maggie,  the  boys' 
English  nurse,  who  is  now  nursing  at  the  Ameri- 
can Ambulance,  and  an  Englishman,  one  of  our 
humble  friends,  out  of  place  for  the  moment,  and 
very  glad  to  do  any  odd  job.  He  speaks  French 
well,  having  lived  many  years  in  Paris.  We  had 
two  cabs — Barling  in  one,  with  piles  of  bundles 
and  cases  around  him,  as  we  had  to  take  down 
everything — among  others,  a  large  case  of  Quaker 
oats,  which  Dr.  Watson  sent  me,  a  basket  of  china, 
another  of  groceries,  two  big  bundles  of  blankets 
and  linen;  a  trunk  of  clothes  which  friends  had 
sent  me,  also  one  from  my  ouvroir.  Maggie  and 
I  in  another  with  a  bundle  of  clothes  Mrs.  Watson 
had  sent  me  from  her  ouvroir,  cartons  with  lamps 
and  shades,  a  basket  of  vegetables,  another  of 
saucepans  and  kitchen  things,  a  valise  of  knives 
and  forks  and  spoons,  and  a  hold-all  full  of  things 
sent  at  the  last  moment — bandages,  woollen 
socks,  etc. 

There  was  a  great  crowd  at  the  station.  The 
Belgian  refugees  are  still  there  in  one  of  the  cov- 
ered courts,  where  couchettes,  a  sort  of  bed  made 
of  planks,  and  covered  with  rugs  and  blankets, 
had  been  arranged,  and  big  marmites  to  cook 
their  food.  People  flock  to  see  them,  bringing 
them  clothes  and  food. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  confusion  as  there 
was  not  half  the  usual  number  of  porters — sol- 
diers   everywhere.     Every    one    made    way    for 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    139 

Nanna  in  her  nurse's  dress,  and  the  porters  were 
much  interested  in  the  ladies  who  were  taking 
down  food  and  clothes  to  one  of  the  ruined  vil- 
lages. 

It  has  been  a  beautiful  day,  clear  and  warm,  and 
the  route  through  the  Villers-Cotterets  forest  was 
lovely.  We  went  very  slowly,  stopping  at  every 
station,  a  long  crowded  train.  We  had  a  long 
wait,  two  hours  at  Ormoy,  in  the  heart  of  the  for- 
est. From  there  to  Mareuil  there  were  traces 
of  war  everywhere — almost  all  the  little  forest 
stations  completely  wrecked,  roofs  off,  no  doors 
nor  windows,  nothing  but  the  four  walls  half 
tumbling  down. 

They  are  repairing  now  as  much  as  they  can, 
but  it  is  difficult  to  get  workmen;  the  soldiers 
give  a  helping  hand  when  they  can.  I  should 
have  thought  some  of  the  Belgians  would  have 
been  glad  of  the  work,  but  there  are  few  able- 
bodied  men  among  the  refugees;  they  are  all  old, 
old  men. 

Mareuil  is  occupe"  militairement — soldiers  at  the 
gare,  and  a  poste  on  the  highroad,  just  at  the 
entrance  of  the  village.  They  stopped  me  and 
wanted  to  know  where  I  was  going,  and  who  I 
was,  but  the  brigadier  de  gendarmerie,  who  was 
lodged  at  our  house,  and  had  seen  me  at  the  sta- 
tion, hurried  up  and  explained. 

Mme.  G.  had  not  received  my  letter,  and  was 
much  flustered  at  the  arrival  of  three  people. 


i4o  MY  WAR  DIARY 

However,  it  was  quite  early  in  the  afternoon — 
2.30.  She  had  plenty  of  time  to  make  fires  (it 
was  not  at  all  cold — a  bright,  beautiful  sun),  and 
beds,  and  prepare  our  dinner. 

I  walked  about  the  garden  while  they  were  un- 
packing. The  lawns  are  entirely  cut  up;  horses 
were  tethered  there.  The  flower-beds  quite 
spoilt;  but  there  was  one  bed  of  chrysanthe- 
mums left — some  of  the  big  yellow  ones,  which 
gave  quite  a  touch  of  colour  and  life  to  the  wasted 
garden. 

The  dining-room  and  fumoir  were  fairly  com- 
fortable though  very  bare;  still  there  were  chairs 
and  tables.  I  dined  alone  and  am  finishing  my 
evening  in  my  own  room.  The  stillness  and 
darkness  are  oppressive.  There  is  not  a  light  in 
the  village  or  station — no  trains  passing — not  a 
sound  on  the  road.  I  am  haunted  by  the  thought 
of  those  brutes  in  our  house. 

Friday,  November  6  th. 
It  has  been  a  beautiful  bright,  mild  day — ex- 
traordinarily clear,  hardly  any  mist  on  the  hills 
and  woods.  One  sees  a  great  distance.  I  have 
had  a  procession  of  visitors — first  the  cure  with  a 
list  of  the  most  miserable  people,  and  all  day  the 
women  and  children.  It  is  a  pitiable  sight.  They 
have  no  clothes  but  what  they  stand  in,  as  they 
went  away  at  very  short  notice,  and  could  only 
take  a  very  few  things  tied  up  in  bundles  (which 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    141 

some  threw  away  en  route,  as  they  could  not 
carry  them). 

There  is  nothing  left  of  their  cottages  but  the 
four  walls.  The  village  houses  are  all  stone,  not 
easy  to  burn.  But  the  Germans  took  all  they 
could  carry  off,  and  destroyed  what  they  couldn't 
take — broke  furniture,  chairs,  tables,  all  the  beds. 
The  women  sleep  on  straw  and  club  together  to 
make  their  soup  in  a  marmite,  like  the  soldiers. 
They  have  no  clothes.  When  the  woman  washes 
her  chemise,  she  lies  in  bed  (on  the  straw)  until  it 
dries.  One  of  them  said  to  me :  "Would  Madame 
please  give  her  a  casserole"  (saucepan)  ?  "Vous 
&tes  bonne,  ma  fille.  Les  Allemands  m'ont  pris 
tous  les  miens;  je  suis  arrivee  avec  deux  ou  trois 
dans  ma  poche  pour  faire  ma  cuisine  ici !" 

Some  of  the  boys — strong,  handsome  boys  of  ten 
and  twelve — had  nothing  on  but  the  linen  jacket 
they  went  away  in  (it  was  warm,  beautiful  summer 
weather  when  they  left)  and  no  shirt  nor  tricot,  the 
jacket  over  their  bare  skin.  Thanks  to  my  friends 
and  my  ouvroir,  I  can  supply  the  first  necessities, 
but  to  clothe  a  whole  village  requires  time  and 
money. 

All  the  afternoon  we  spent  going  over  the  house 
and  seeing  what  was  left.  They  seem  to  have 
made  a  clean  sweep  of  all  the  small  things  that 
accumulate  in  a  house — pens,  pencils,  scissors, 
frames,  pincushions,  fancy  boxes  and  bags.  Some 
of  the  trunks  in  the  garret  are  untouched.     They 


i42  MY  WAR  DIARY 

were  locked,  but  of  course  could  easily  have  been 
forced  open.  All  the  silver  things  that  had  not 
been  hidden  have  gone,  inkstands,  frames,  vases. 

The  concierge  has  lost  everything,  even  her 
wedding- wreath  carefully  preserved  under  a  glass. 

I  went  into  the  billiard-room  and  salon,  opening 
the  windows  wide  to  let  in  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun.  In  the  salon  drawers  pulled  out  and  broken 
— books  taken — great  gaps  in  the  rows — music 
torn  and  scattered  over  the  floor,  but  the  piano 
not  hurt.  I  tried  to  play  a  little  in  the  twilight, 
but  it  makes  me  so  homesick  for  the  children; 
I  seemed  to  hear  their  little  voices  singing  their 
Christmas  carols;  and  always  saw  that  awful 
German  writing  on  the  shutters,  "Geschafts- 
zimmer" — but  I  must  leave  it  for  Francis  to  see. 

We  still  hear  the  cannon,  but  more  faintly.  I 
don't  feel  now  as  if  ever  I  could  be  gay  or  happy 
again  in  the  place,  but  perhaps  that  feeling  will 
pass  when  the  war  is  over,  and  "the  troops  are 
marching  home  again  with  gay  and  gallant  tread" 
— but  when  ? 

Saturday,  November  7th,  '14. 
It  was  foggy  but  not  cold  this  morning.  I 
walked  about  the  village  a  little  after  breakfast; 
always  the  same  story  of  pillage  and  misery. 
Most  of  the  women  and  children  have  no  clothes 
left,  and  no  money  to  buy  any.  Everybody  was 
very  sad,  as  a  funeral  service  was  going  on  for  one 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    143 

of  the  village  boys,  twenty  years  old,  a  little  shep- 
herd, tue  a  l'ennemi.  Of  course  we  all  think  of 
our  own  at  the  front,  and  hardly  dare  to  pray 
that  they  may  come  back. 

The  cur6  has  made  me  a  first  list  of  a  hundred 
children,  ranging  from  one  year  old  to  twelve,  boys 
and  girls,  all  wanting  warm  clothes.  I  found  some 
flannel  in  the  village  which  will  make  shirts  and 
petticoats;  that  will  give  the  women  something 
to  do;  they  will  be  glad  to  earn  a  little  money; 
and  it  will  be  easier  for  me  than  buying  the  things 
in  Paris,  particularly  as  they  don't  send  anything 
yet  by  rail. 

We  had  sent  for  a  carriage  from  Thomas  at 
La  Ferte,  but  at  3  o'clock  nothing  had  come,  and 
after  6  no  equipages  are  allowed  to  circulate.  We 
tried  to  find  one  in  the  village,  but  there  are 
scarcely  any  horses  left.  Finally  the  farmer  next 
door  lent  us  his  little  country  dog-cart,  and  we 
started  off  with  our  sauf-conduit.  Nanna  and  I 
sat  behind,  and  Barling  in  front  with  a  package 
of  hospital  sheets  and  bandages. 

The  road  was  absolutely  deserted  except  for 
military  automobiles,  and  there  were  soldiers 
everywhere.  It  was  really  dark  when  we  got  to 
La  Ferte  at  4  o'clock,  and  I  was  rather  worrying 
over  our  return,  as  we  had  no  lights.  La  Fert6  is 
quite  changed.  I  should  never  have  recognised 
the  dull  little  provincial  town,  with  no  movement 
of  any  kind  except  on  market-day,  when  a  few 


144  MY  WAR  DIARY 

carts  were  drawn  up  on  the  mall,  and  the  neigh- 
bouring farmers  jogged  along  on  their  funny  old- 
fashioned  cabriolets.  Now  it  is  full  of  soldiers; 
cannon  and  munition- wagons  on  the  mall;  the 
bridge  over  the  canal,  blown  up  and  replaced  by 
a  temporary  rickety  wooden  structure.  The 
shops  were  open  and  lighted,  I  should  think  doing 
good  business. 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  some  petroleum. 
I  was  received  with  enthusiasm;  everybody 
wanted  to  talk,  to  tell  me  their  experiences  and  to 
hear  mine.  The  town  had  suffered  very  little 
during  the  German  occupation,  thanks  to  the 
cure,  the  Abbe  Detigne,  who  remained  all  the 
time,  and  certainly  saved  the  town  by  his  courage 
and  coolness. 

I  went  to  the  Presbytere  to  see  him.  He  was 
out,  but  his  sister  told  me  she  would  find  him  in 
the  town  and  send  him  to  the  Hdtel-Dieu.  I 
went  there  to  see  the  sisters  and  leave  my  parcels, 
stopping  on  the  way  at  the  butcher's  to  buy  a 
gigot,  as  I  had  asked  our  cure  to  dinner.  I  had 
a  nice  talk  with  the  sisters,  who  asked  me  if  I 
would  give  them  some  wool  as  they  have  taught 
the  girls  to  knit  socks,  but  can't  get  any  wool  in 
the  country.  They  had  only  a  few  wounded 
Germans.  "Madame  voudrait  les  voir?"  No, 
Madame  didn't  feel  as  if  she  could  see  a  German, 
coming  directly  from  Mareuil  where  they  worked 
such  havoc.     The  old  Mere  Superieure  did  not 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    145 

insist;  merely  remarked:  "Ce  sont  des  soldats, 
Madame,  qui  font  leur  devoir  comme  les  ndtres." 
It  is  quite  true — all  the  same  I  didn't  want  to  see 
them. 

The  abbe  came  in  just  as  we  were  starting.  He 
was  very  preoccupied  about  our  return  in  the 
dark,  along  the  lonely  road,  with  a  child  driving, 
and  wanted  us  to  stay  the  night  at  the  Presbytere 
— couldn't  imagine  that  it  was  possible  to  stay  at 
Mareuil;  at  any  rate  we  had  better  dine  with 
him.  He  evidently  thought  I  had  no  shelter  nor 
food,  and  nothing  to  cook  it  in  if  I  had  any. 
However,  I  reassured  him;  told  him  we  had  our 
dinner  in  the  cart,  and  the  cur6  de  Mareuil  was 
coming  to  dine  with  me.  All  I  wanted  was  a 
lantern.  The  sisters  procured  me  one,  and  wanted 
to  give  me  hot  wine  and  biscuits  to  eat  on  the 
way — but  that  was  really  not  necessary,  as  it  is 
not  more  than  eight  kilometres  and  the  road  was 
fairly  good — not  too  much  cut  up. 

It  was  a  mild  evening,  a  little  damp,  but  we 
had  warm  cloaks,  and  Barling  held  the  lantern 
up  high,  swung  on  a  cane.  It  was  pitch-dark, 
nothing  on  the  road,  except  military  automobiles, 
which  dashed  by  at  full  speed,  their  great  lanterns 
lighting  up  the  road  for  a  few  seconds.  No  one 
molested  us,  nor  asked  for  our  papers,  though  we 
didn't  get  home  until  7  o'clock. 

Mme.  G.,  rather  anxious,  was  at  the  gate. 
The  cur6  came  to  dinner,  and  he  sat  afterward 


146  MY  WAR  DIARY 

for  about  an  hour  in  the  fumoir,  and  he  told  me 
of  their  hurried  flight  from  Mareuil,  and  the 
fatigues  of  the  journey,  the  whole  party  sleeping 
in  the  fields,  under  haystacks,  with  very  little  to 
eat  or  drink,  hardly  daring  to  stop  at  night  for  five 
or  six  hours  to  rest,  for  fear  of  being  caught  by 
the  Germans.  In  some  of  the  villages  the  Ger- 
mans forced  the  fugitives  they  met  on  the  road, 
to  go  back  to  work  for  them.  One  poor  old  man 
in  our  village  was  not  quick  enough,  nor  strong 
enough  to  carry  some  wood.  They  pricked  him 
with  the  bayonet,  telling  him  he  wouldn't  die  yet ; 
he  would  live  long  enough  to  become  a  German. 
The  village  was  away  for  thirteen  days,  wan- 
dering along  the  roads,  delighted  when  they  could 
get  a  bundle  of  straw  in  a  barn  to  sleep  on. 

Sunday,  November  8th. 

I  didn't  go  to  church  as  the  service  was  early, 
8  o'clock,  but  I  walked  about  the  village  and 
found  more  flannel  and  cotton  which  I  can  leave 
here.  The  women  can  make  chemises  and  petti- 
coats for  themselves.  The  poor  people  look  dread- 
fully depressed  without  work  or  money.  It  is 
very  difficult  to  know  how  to  help  them.  How- 
ever, I  promised  to  come  down  about  Christmas 
and  bring  some  warm  clothes..  I  would  like  to 
start  a  knitting  class,  but  the  cure  tells  me  so 
few  people  knit. 

We  leave  at  2.30.     I  have  made  an  exhaustive 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    147 

tour  in  the  garden  with  the  boy  and  a  gardener 
who  works  for  us  occasionally.  It  must  all  be 
dug  up;  lawns,  flower-beds — and  in  the  spring, 
if  the  Germans  are  out  of  France,  we  will  see  what 
can  be  done.  As  long  as  they  are  so  near  us 
there  is  no  use  doing  anything,  as  they  will  cer- 
tainly burn  and  ruin  all  they  can  as  they  leave. 

I  couldn't  find  out  anything  about  the  people 
in  the  neighbourhood  in  the  different  chateaux.  It 
is  a  curious  feature  in  this  war,  no  one  knows 
anything  about  any  one.  Unless  you  are  in  the 
country  and  pass  a  house  or  farm  that  was 
burned  or  knocked  to  pieces,  no  one  knows. 

The  cannon  was  loud  and  incessant  this  morn- 
ing. I  ask  myself  all  the  time:  Am  I  really  at 
Mareuil,  our  quiet  little  village,  or  is  it  all  a  bad 
dream  ?    Ah,  what  a  wicked  war ! 

Paris,  Thursday,  November  12th. 
We  got  back  Sunday,  to  dinner.  A  tiring 
journey,  and  I  must  have  caught  cold  as  I  have 
been  stiff  and  rather  miserable  ever  since.  Didn't 
go  to  the  ouvroir  until  to-day.  Mr.  Mygatt  has 
brought  over  excellent  stuffs  and  wool  from  Lon- 
don, better  and  cheaper  than  anything  he  can 
get  here.  The  big  room  looked  very  business- 
like with  its  piles  of  cloth  and  flannel.  Mme.  del 
Marmol  brought  us  a  doctor  (soldier)  who  was 
starting  a  field-hospital  near  Chalons,  just  behind 
the  last  line  of  trenches.     He  came  to  ask  for 


148  MY  WAR  DIARY 

help  for  his  hospital.  "What  do  you  want?" 
we  asked  him.  "Everything,"  was  his  prompt 
reply;  and  we  made  him  two  enormous  bundles 
with  everything  we  had  in  stock,  from  sleeping- 
bags  to  socks.  Unfortunately  we  had  no  hospital 
stores,  but  he  thought  he  could  get  them  from 
the  Croix  Rouge.  He  helped  make  the  trunks, 
kneeling  down  on  the  floor,  and  carried  them  off 
in  a  cab. 

The  fighting  is  terrible  on  the  Yser,  the  Germans 
attacking  furiously,  but  making  no  progress;  but 
the  loss  of  life  on  both  sides  is  awful.  They  say 
the  Yser  runs  red  with  blood  in  some  parts.  The 
lines  of  the  Scottish  poet,  Thomas  Campbell, 
which  I  learned  as  a  child,  come  back  to  me  all 
the  time: 

"On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly." 

Tuesday,  November  17th. 
It  has  been  a  bright,  beautiful  day,  just  enough 
crispness  in  the  air  to  remind  one  that  autumn 
was  coming  to  an  end.  It  was  really  a  pleasure 
to  be  out.  I  always  walk  over  to  the  ouvroir.  It 
takes  one  about  twenty  minutes.  Little  by  little, 
the  shops  are  opening,  quite  a  number  in  the  rue 
de  la  Beotie.  Almost  all,  except  the  grocers  and 
bakers,  have  soldiers'  things:  waistcoats,  jerseys, 
passe-montagnes  of  every  description.     We  are 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    149 

always  looking  for  models  of  the  simplest  kind, 
with  as  few  buttons,  strings,  and  pockets  as  pos- 
sible. 

The  equipment  of  our  poilus  is  much  simpler 
than  that  of  the  Tommies.  Some  of  the  older, 
old-fashioned  officers  are  astounded  at  the  bag- 
gage which  follows  the  British  army. 

About  3  o'clock  I  went  with  the  Mygatts  to 
one  of  the  hospitals  of  the  Petites  Sceurs  des 
Pauvres,  in  the  rue  Lafayette.  Cardinal  Amette, 
the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  was  coming  to  see  the 
wounded.  We  took  over  ten  of  our  paquets 
militaires  and  bundles  of  pansements,  as  the  hos- 
pital is  very  poor.  The  sisters  have  given  up 
their  beds.    They  had  so  few  extra  ones. 

The  paquets  are  very  good,  shirt,  drawers, 
jerseys,  socks,  and  passe-montagne,  a  sort  of  hel- 
met which  goes  over  the  kepi,  and  protects  the 
back  of  the  neck;  everything  in  wool.  We  pre- 
fer to  give  fewer  things  but  in  good  quality.  It 
is  useless  to  send  cotton  to  men  in  the  trenches. 

There  was  quite  a  stir  in  the  street  when  we 
arrived  at  our  destination.  The  church  at  the 
end  of  a  long  narrow  court,  with  its  big  doors 
open,  the  altar  brilliantly  lighted;  the  body  of 
the  church  dark,  outlines  of  kneeling  figures  just 
visible;  quite  a  number  of  people  waiting  at  the 
door  of  the  convent. 

The  Cardinal  came  very  punctually.  (It  was 
a  pleasure  to  see  the  red  cap  and  robes.)     He  is  a 


ISO  MY  WAR  DIARY 

good-looking  man,  tall,  rather  the  military  type — 
spoke  charmingly  to  the  Mere  Superieure,  who 
was  waiting  at  the  door — and  went  with  her  into 
all  the  wards,  speaking  to  each  man.  A  Sene- 
galais  convalescent,  black  as  ink,  standing  in 
the  row  of  white  beds,  was  a  curious  sight.  I  don't 
think  he  understood  anything  the  Cardinal  said, 
but  he  smiled  and  showed  all  his  dazzling  white 
teeth. 

The  Cardinal  said  he  would  come  and  benir 
notre  ouvroir. 

Mrs.  Herrick  came  in  late  and  was  charming, 
always  so  ready  to  help  and  doing  it  all  so  simply. 
She  thinks  they  will  go  soon,  but  I  can't  think  the 
government  could  make  such  a  mistake. 

Thursday,  November  19th. 
I  had  a  line  from  Mrs.  Herrick  last  night  say- 
ing they  were  leaving  on  the  28th.  It  doesn't 
seem  possible.  I  went  to  the  Embassy  after 
breakfast;  there  were  several  people  there,  all 
much  disturbed  by  the  Ambassador's  sudden  de- 
parture. He  was  quite  smiling  and  composed. 
I  think  he  is  deeply  sorry  to  go  while  things  are 
in  such  a  serious  state.  He  has  been  so  interested 
in  France  and  all  she  has  been  going  through  in 
those  tragic  months  that  it  will  be  a  wrench  to 
leave  it  all  just  now.  Of  course,  once  the  break 
is  made  and  he  has  got  back  to  America,  he  will 
find  so  much  to  do  that  France  and  the  war  will 
gradually  recede  into  the  past. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    151 

I  think  Mrs.  Herrick  is  glad  to  go  back  to  her 
children  and  grandchildren,  though  she  enjoyed 
the  life  in  France.  They  have  made  quantities 
of  friends  over  here. 


Sunday,  November  22nd. 

Another  enchanting  day.  I  walked  about  a 
little  after  church  and  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
avenue  de  l'Alma,  and  talked  to  three  wounded 
soldiers  who  were  sitting  there  in  the  sun.  They 
all  had  crutches,  but  told  me  they  were  getting 
better,  and  none  had  lost  arms  or  legs.  They 
had  all  been  wounded  at  the  Battle  of  the  Marne ; 
were  not  in  the  least  discouraged,  and  were  pining 
to  get  back  and  have  another  shot  at  the  Boches. 
One  of  them,  with  quite  an  educated  voice  and 
language,  said:  "They  thought  they  were  going 
to  get  Paris,  Madame !  They  will  never  have  it, 
our  beautiful  Paris.  They  would  have  to  walk 
over  bodies,  not  only  of  soldiers,  but  of  women 
and  children,  before  they  could  get  in !" 

One  or  two  passers-by  stopped  and  joined  in 
the  conversation,  and  we  ended  by  discussing  the 
battle  of  the  Marne:  "A  miracle,"  some  one  said. 

It  is  astonishing  the  camaraderie  this  war  has 
brought  about;  everybody  talks  to  everybody; 
and  everybody  helps. 

Monday,  November  23rd. 
I  lunched  at  the  U.  S.  Embassy  this  morning, 
and  went  afterward  with  the  Ambassadress  to 


152  MY  WAR  DIARY 

the  American  Ambulance,  where  I  had  given  ren- 
dezvous to  two  French  ladies,  Duchesse  de  T.  and 
Princesse  d'A.,  who  wanted  very  much  to  see  it. 
They  made  a  most  thorough  inspection,  and  were 
delighted  with  the  order  and  beautiful  cleanliness 
of  everything.  The  big  ward  looked  most  cheer- 
ful, brightly  lighted.  The  rows  of  beds  spotlessly 
clean  and  tidy.  All  the  nurses  in  white,  many 
ladies  we  know;  some  professionals,  and  quite  a 
number  of  young  men  of  society  who  were  unable 
for  some  reason  or  other  to  join  the  army,  but 
were  anxious  to  do  something  to  help.  They,  too, 
were  in  white,  the  regular  infirmier's  dress,  and 
the  wounded  seemed  quite  at  ease  with  them, 
evidently  liked  to  have  them  about. 

I  talked  a  little  to  two  young  Irishmen,  each  of 
whom  had  lost  a  leg.  They  were  quite  smiling 
and  ready  to  talk.  Sometimes  it  is  not  easy  to 
make  conversation;  the  men  are  shy  or  tired. 
The  doctor  asked  me  if  I  would  go  into  one  of  the 
small  rooms  where  there  were  some  grands  blesses 
— four  in  one  room.  I  didn't  want  to,  very  much, 
as  I  am  very  impressionable,  and  could  do  nothing 
to  help  them — but  I  didn't  like  to  refuse.  Two 
of  the  men  buried  their  faces  in  their  pillows, 
evidently  didn't  want  to  be  talked  to,  and  the 
others  tried  with  such  a  pitiful  smile  to  answer 
and  be  grateful  for  our  sympathy;  but  what  can 
one  say  to  them? 

We  went  down  afterward  to  the  tea-room.     Ev- 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,   1914    153 

ery  afternoon,  three  or  four  ladies  provide  tea 
and  cakes  for  the  nurses  and  various  functionaries 
of  the  Ambulance.  We  found  the  tea-room  quite 
full  of  white  aproned  nurses  and  infirmiers,  and 
big,  burly  chauffeurs  of  automobiles,  and  three  or 
four  boy  scouts.  The  ladies  behind  the  long 
table  were  kept  very  busy,  and  teapots  and  plates 
of  buns  and  good  heavy  substantial  plum  cakes 
were  being  constantly  replenished. 

My  French  friends  were  much  interested  in  the 
hospital.  Such  abundance  of  everything,  so  much 
given,  and  so  wonderfully  light  and  clean.  No  de- 
tail escaped  them,  not  even  a  corner  of  a  cor- 
ridor, where  some  women  were  washing  and  pre- 
paring green  vegetables. 

Thursday,  Thanksgiving  Day. 

I  went  to  church,  as  I  feel  I  have  much  to  be 
thankful  for,  in  this  awful  year  which  has  brought 
mourning  to  so  many  homes.  We  had  a  quiet 
dinner — very  unlike  our  Thanksgiving  dinners  at 
Mareuil,  where  we  had  always  that  day  a  regular 
American  menu:  Turkey,  cranberry  sauce  and 
pumpkin  pie  for  those  who  liked  it.  No  French 
of  any  category  ever  tasted  the  pie.  They  are  just 
as  conservative  about  their  food  as  they  are  in 
everything  else,  and  only  eat  what  they  are  accus- 
tomed to. 

I  wonder  what  next  Thanksgiving  will  bring 
us.    France  has  held  her  own  wonderfully,   so 


154  MY  WAR  DIARY 

far,  and  has  shown  such  quiet,  steady  determina- 
tion, besides  her  splendid  fighting  qualities. 

There  must  be  so  many  changes  all  over  the 
world  after  the  war,  and  surely  a  change  of  men- 
tality. The  men  who  have  fought  such  an  awful 
fight,  and  the  women  who  have  lived  through  the 
suspense  and  trials  of  these  terrible  days,  can 
never  shake  off  those  memories  and  take  up  the 
old,  easy  life  again. 

Friday,  November  27th. 

I  had  a  long  afternoon  at  the  ouvroir.  We  had 
a  great  many  soldiers  and  some  of  the  older  men 
looked  sad !  It  is  terrible  for  the  men  of  the 
pays  evacu6s.  They  have  been  for  months  with- 
out news  of  their  families. 

I  went  later  to  say  good-bye  to  the  Herricks, 
who  leave  to-morrow.  Their  salon  was  full  of 
people,  all  deploring  their  departure.  I  waited 
until  nearly  8  o'clock  to  see  the  Ambassador,  but 
he  didn't  come  in.  I  walked  home  in  the  dark, 
thinking  regretfully  that  I  should  never  cross 
their  hospitable  threshold  again.  .  .  . 

December  1st,  Tuesday. 
Quiet  day  at  the  ouvroir.  We  are  getting 
through  a  great  deal  of  work,  and  have  at  last 
arranged  to  get  our  wool  and  stuffs  from  England. 
Here  everything  is  hors  prix,  and  besides  taken  by 
the  Government.     One  of  my  friends  went  to  buy 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    155 

some  wool  the  other  day,  and  would  have  taken 
a  large  amount,  but  while  the  woman  was  getting 
it  together,  two  men  with  military  brassards 
on  their  arms,  came  in  and  forbade  the  woman 
to  give  it.  They  took  all  she  had  for  the  army. 
My  friend  remonstrated,  saying  she  too  wanted 
her's  for  the  soldiers,  but  they  wouldn't  let  her 
have  any.  It  is  comfortable  in  one  way  being 
under  martial  law.  One  feels  so  absolutely  pro- 
tected, but  there  is  no  appeal  possible  if  they  tell 
you  a  thing  can't  be. 

I  found  a  telegram  from  Charlotte  when  I 
came  home  this  evening.  Francis'  regiment  is 
ordered  to  the  front.  She  and  the  boys  come  to 
Paris  on  Thursday. 

Thursday,  3rd  December, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 
It  seems  strange  to  be  here  again  in  my  apart- 
ment, but  I  can't  leave  Charlotte  quite  alone.  I 
have  divided  my  time  between  here  and  the  rue 
de  la  Tremoille.  C.  and  the  boys  arrived  at  7 
o'clock.  I  went  to  the  Gare  St.  Lazare  to  meet 
them.  They  all  look  perfectly  well;  boys  splen- 
did. We  sent  the  luggage  straight  up  here,  and 
dined  at  la  Tremoille  with  Henrietta.  The  boys 
have  grown  so  much  older,  with  so  much  to  tell. 
They  had  seen  the  regiment  start,  and  "Papa 
arme  with  his  rifle  and  revolver!"  Poor  little 
things !  they  have  seen  so  much  sadness  since  the 


156  MY  WAR  DIARY 

beginning  of  the  war.  The  regiment  is  at  Aulnay, 
near  Paris,  for  a  few  days  only,  en  route  for  the 
front.  Where,  they  don't  know — Belgium,  I 
suppose. 

I  think  we  shall  be  comfortable  here.  We 
shan't  use  the  salon  and  my  room,  but  live  all 
together  in  Francis'  part,  where  we  each  have  a 
bedroom,  with  dining-room  and  fumoir. 

Friday,  December  4th, 
Rue  la  Tremoille. 
We  all  lunched  here  and  went  afterward  to 
the  ouvroir,  where  we  had  the  visit  of  Cardinal 
Amette,  Archbishop  of  Paris.  We  had  asked  sev- 
eral ladies  who  knew  him  to  come:  Duchesse  de 
Trevise,  Comtesse  de  B.,  Comtesse  de  B — nes,  etc. 
He  was  quite  charming.  Two  or  three  priests 
came  with  him,  and  he  looked  at  our  stuffs  and 
was  so  simple  and  interested  in  everything;  said, 
as  every  one  does,  that  the  soldiers  needed  warm 
things.  He  spoke  very  nicely  to  the  women,  all 
soldiers'  wives  and  refugees,  who  were  working  in 
one  of  the  rooms.  It  was  nice  of  him  to  come  as 
he  has  so  much  to  do.  I  was  so  glad  to  see  the 
red  robes  again.  They  always  recall  Rome  and 
the  happy  days  there — so  long  ago — when  I  think 
that  we  all  saw  Pio  Nono. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    157 

Monday,  December  7th, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 

The  boys  began  school  this  morning.  Char- 
lotte went  with  Mrs.  Mygatt  to  see  about  some 
stuffs  for  the  ouvroir.  She  had  a  telegram  from 
Francis  asking  her  to  come  and  see  him  at  Aulnay. 
She  went  off  about  3.30.  It  is  close  to  Paris — 
would  take  about  half  an  hour  by  train  in  ordi- 
nary times,  but  the  service  is  very  irregular — so 
many  employees  are  at  the  front,  and  the  passen- 
ger-trains are  constantly  stopped  to  let  troops 
pass. 

I  came  up  here  after  the  ouvroir  and  dined 
with  the  boys.  C.  came  in  about  9.30;  said 
Francis  was  very  well,  had  a  very  nice  room,  and 
wanted  us  to  go  and  see  him  to-morrow.  We 
can  only  go  late  as  women  are  not  supposed  to  go 
out  there,  but  after  dark  no  one  pays  much  at- 
tention, and  the  officers  shut  their  eyes.  It  is  so 
near  Paris,  only  an  hour  by  train,  that  they  would 
certainly  have  not  only  the  soldiers'  wives,  but 
women  of  a  certain  class,  which  would  not  be  de- 
sirable. 

Tuesday,  December  8th. 
We  had  two  hours  with  Francis  to-day.  C.  and 
I  took  the  4  o'clock  train,  stopping  at  a  patissier's 
on  the  way  to  buy  two  large  tarts  for  the  mess  of 
the  sous-ofnciers.  Soldiers  are  such  children. 
They  always  want  bonbons  and  cakes,  cigarettes, 


158  MY  WAR  DIARY 

or  picture  papers.  We  were  in  a  very  long  train, 
had  German  prisoners  on  board,  the  first  I  have 
seen.  They  got  off  at  Le  Bourget.  Quite  a 
crowd  assembled  on  the  platform  to  see  them  pass 
as  they  walked  down  guarded  by  a  few  French 
fantassins. 

The  men  looked  young — tired,  but  their  uni- 
forms were  clean — didn't  look  as  if  they  had  been 
fighting  lately.  Nobody  said  anything  or  made 
a  hostile  demonstration  of  any  kind.  There  was 
absolute  silence. 

Francis  met  us  at  the  station  as  it  was  dark. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  him  in  uniform. 
He  looked  very  well,  very  sombre;  wears  no  longer 
the  red  culotte.  All  the  men  at  the  front  wear 
dark  blue,  even  the  buttons  of  his  coat  were  dark. 
He  took  us  to  his  room  in  the  only  hotel  near  the 
station,  where  h&  had  made  himself  very  com- 
fortable, and  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  his 
patronne.  He  gave  us  tea  and  chocolate.  The 
patronne  made  us  very  good  toast,  and  smiled 
all  over  when  he  complimented  her  on  her  tea. 
We  had  a  nice  white  nappe.  There  were  only 
two  chairs  in  the  room,  so  he  sat  on  the  bed.  He 
was  very  cheerful,  said  there  was  no  chance  of 
his  getting  to  Paris.  We  hoped  he  might  have 
come  for  Christmas.  He  didn't  think  they  would 
stay  long  at  Aulnay.  Had  no  idea  where  they 
would  go.  He  is  so  pleased  to  get  to  the  front 
and  see  something  of  the  fighting.      It  was  nice 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    159 

to  see  him  again.     He  looked  well,  but  older  and 
graver. 

We  left  about  7.  The  streets  of  the  little  place 
were  full  of  soldiers  and  their  wives,  who  appar- 
ently had  managed  to  get  out  to  the  regiment. 

Thursday,  December  10th. 

I  was  at  the  ouvroir  all  the  afternoon.  C.  took 
the  boys  out  to  Aulnay.  While  we  were  at  dinner 
she  came  in,  looking  rather  white  and  upset. 
Regiment  ordered  to  the  front,  somewhere  be- 
tween Rheims  and  Soissons;  starts  to-morrow 
morning,  4  o'clock. 

Francis  and  Charlotte  went  shopping  at  Aul- 
nay. He  had  to  buy  himself  flannel  shirts  and 
drawers  as  his  things  were  at  the  wash.  Poor 
little  Willy  was  quite  nervous  and  tearful  as  his 
father  told  him  he  was  going  to  the  front;  might 
never  come  back,  and  that  he  must  be  very  good 
and  take  care  of  his  mother  and  little  brother 
and  D.  How  many  soldier-fathers  all  over  France 
have  said  the  same  thing  to  their  boys! 

Monday,  December  14th. 
We  have  decided  to  go  down  to  Mareuil,  Char- 
lotte, the  boys,  and  I,  on  the  18th.  I  have  written 
to  Mme.  Gaillard  to  have  the  house  well  warmed. 
We  shall  take  down  a  provision  of  warm  clothes. 
Thanks  to  our  friends,  we  have  been  able  to  get 
a  lot  of  things. 


160  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Wednesday,  December  16th. 
We  are  very  busy  at  the  ouvroir  fitting  out  the 
children  of  Mareuil.  We  have  very  long  lists 
from  the  cure  and  the  schoolmistress.  When  I 
went  over  just  now,  I  found  Charlotte  established 
in  one  of  the  small  rooms,  and  surrounded  by 
piles  of  coats,  costumes,  dresses,  petticoats,  shirts, 
drawers,  socks  of  all  sizes,  from  a  baby  of  eight 
weeks  to  an  old  woman  of  ninety-five.  Mile. 
Jeanne  was  sorting  the  things  and  pinning  tickets 
with  the  names  on  the  garments.  Our  bundles 
will  be  huge,  but  Mr.  M.  has  lent  us  his  auto- 
camion,  which  will  take  the  things  from  door  to 
door. 

Thursday,  December  17th. 
We  filled  the  camion  this  afternoon,  as  the  man 
wants  to  start  early  to-morrow  morning.  The 
boys  wildly  excited,  helping  put  in  the  packages, 
and  suggesting  that  they  should  go,  too,  in  the 
camion. 

Mareuil,  Friday,  December  18th,  1914. 
I  am  writing  at  night.  Although  it  is  only 
10  o'clock,  the  whole  household  is  wrapped  in 
slumber,  as  we  have  had  a  tiring  day.  We  left 
Paris,  Charlotte,  her  boys,  the  maid,  and  I,  at 
9.30,  still  with  a  fair  amount  of  packages,  pro- 
visions mostly,  as  Mme.  Gaillard  wrote  us  we 
could  not  get  anything  at  Mareuil  but  bread,  but- 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    161 

ter,  and  apples.  She  thought  the  butcher  from  La 
Ferte  would  come  when  he  knew  we  were  there, 
but  wasn't  sure. 

We  had  a  tiring  journey,  a  long,  cold  wait  at 
Ormoy;  and  the  boys  were  much  impressed  over 
the  various  traces  of  the  war.  In  one  field  we 
saw  three  graves  with  a  little  French  flag  to  mark 
the  spot.  A  little  farther  on,  quite  a  row  with  a 
cross  made  of  sticks  at  one  end.  They  looked  so 
lonely  in  the  middle  of  the  bare  field. 

From  Ormoy  to  Mareuil,  at  almost  all  the  sta- 
tions, roofs  were  off,  the  houses — doors  and  win- 
dows gone — bare  walls.  We  got  to  Mareuil 
about  2  o'clock.  Of  course  Mme.  G.  hadn't  re- 
ceived either  letter  or  telegram,  but  the  camion 
had  arrived  and  prepared  them  for  our  coming. 
Our  friend,  Mr.  Mygatt,  lent  us  his  auto-camion 
to  bring  down  all  our  things.  It  was  so  much 
more  convenient  to  load  it  directly  at  the  ouvroir. 
We  had  no  troubles  about  trunks,  or  tickets,  or 
weighing.  Bundles  of  all  kinds  and  sizes  were 
crammed  into  the  car;  some  blankets  and  thick 
coats  just  tied  up  with  a  string,  as  the  auto  went 
from  door  to  door.  We  loaded  it  yesterday  after- 
noon late  at  the  ouvroir,  and  I  was  quite  astonished 
when  all  the  packages  got  in. 

The  chauffeur,  the  faithful  Marius,  had  already 
unloaded  boxes  and  trunks,  which  had  been  car- 
ried into  the  house.  He  started  straight  back, 
as  he  wanted  to  get  into  Paris  before  dark.     It 


162  MY  WAR  DIARY 

was  a  bright,  lovely  afternoon,  and  the  boys 
dashed  at  once  into  the  garden  to  see  if  the  Boches 
had  spoiled  their  garden  and  gymnasium.  The 
poor  garden  looked  awful,  all  dug  up,  only  two 
or  three  pots  of  chrysanthemums  were  left  in  the 
tool-house. 

The  cure  came  to  tea,  and  we  plunged  instantly 
into  lists:  warm  clothes,  blankets,  etc.  He  had 
two  hundred  and  odd  children  on  his  list.  (He 
had  been  to  every  cottage  in  the  village  to  make 
sure  that  no  child  was  left  out.)  Also  about  six- 
teen or  eighteen  young  mothers,  with  babies  in 
their  arms,  girls  and  boys  up  to  eighteen — all  the 
old  people.  It  seemed  rather  an  undertaking  to 
clothe  so  many  people,  but  our  bundles  and  trunks 
held  a  great  deal. 

We  decided  to  make  our  distribution  on  Sun- 
day, as  we  really  needed  all  day  Saturday  to  sort 
out  the  things;  besides  I  had  promised  to  go  to 
La  Ferte  in  the  afternoon  to  see  the  Abb6  Deti- 
gne,  and  take  some  wool  to  the  sisters.  The  house 
was  cold  though  there  were  fires  everywhere — 
but  such  fires !  still  no  coal,  only  little  blocks  and 
ends  of  wood  we  got  from  the  sawmill,  and  it 
has  naturally  an  empty,  uncomfortable  look. 

We  put  all  the  rugs  and  blankets  we  possessed 
on  the  beds.  There  weren't  many,  as  the  Ger- 
mans had  carried  everything  off. 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    163 

Saturday,  December  19th,  '14. 

It  has  been  again  a  lovely  day,  the  sun  shining 
in  at  all  the  windows,  showing  us  more  distinctly 
even  than  yesterday  all  that  has  been  taken. 
Still  we  are  comfortable  enough  in  our  corner, 
and  I  suppose  ought  to  be  thankful  that  we  have 
anything  left. 

We  had  people  all  the  morning  asking  for  warm 
clothes  and  looking,  I  must  say,  utterly  wretched, 
half -starved,  and  frozen.  Our  village  was  not  so 
perfectly  miserable,  but  some  of  the  refugees  from 
the  environs  of  Soissons  and  Rheims  were  in  a 
pitiable  condition,  weary  and  cold  and  terror- 
stricken.  They  had  been  chased  out  of  their 
villages,  their  cottages  burned,  all  the  old  people, 
grandfathers  and  grandmothers,  left  to  die  prob- 
ably on  the  roadside.  Even  in  our  village  some 
people  have  never  come  back.  No  one  knows 
what  has  become  of  them.  The  children  had  a 
frightened  look  in  their  eyes,  which  was  heart- 
rending to  see.  The  mothers  didn't  complain; 
were  very  grateful  ffor  anything  we  gave  them, 
but  they  all  had  a  hopeless  expression  on  their 
faces,  a  quiet,  half-dazed  acceptance  of  the  ruin 
which  had  come  upon  them. 

We  breakfasted  early  and  started  for  La  Fert6 
before  10  o'clock  (we  had  to  have  sauf-conduits 
from  the  mayor)  in  the  tapissiere  of  Bourgeois, 
the  grocer — a  most  primitive  vehicle,  a  cart  with 
a  canvas  cover,  no  springs,  and  very  hard,  narrow 


164  MY  WAR  DIARY 

seats.  The  cover  was  so  low  that  Charlotte  had 
to  take  off  her  hat  and  hang  it  on  a  nail  on  one 
side  of  the  curtain.  The  road  looked  exactly  the 
same  as  when  I  was  here  the  last  time — nothing 
passing  but  military  autos,  a  few  officers  riding. 
At  Bourne ville  there  is  a  sentry-box  just  outside 
the  gate;  a  service  de  ravitaillement  is  stationed 
there. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  movement  at  La  Ferte, 
soldiers,  cannon,  and  munition-wagons  every- 
where. We  went  first  to  the  Presbytere  to  see 
the  abbe.  He  wasn't  at  home,  but  we  saw  his 
sister,  and  asked  her  to  tell  him  we  hoped  he 
would  come  and  lunch  with  us  on  Monday. 
Then  we  went  to  the  H6tel-Dieu  and  left  a  good 
package  of  clothes  and  wool  with  the  sisters. 
The  old  Mere  Superieure,  who  has  been  there  for 
forty  years,  was  so  pleased  to  see  us — told  the 
boys  she  remembered  their  father  when  he  was  a 
baby  in  long  clothes.  She  gave  them  a  German 
knapsack  which  they  were  delighted  to  have,  as 
they  are  making  a  collection  of  all  the  German 
war  material  they  can  find  to  make  a  musee  de 
guerre. 

It  was  lovely  coming  home;  except  for  the  un- 
natural quiet — not  a  sound,  no  children  playing 
on  the  road.  The  cure  came  to  dinner  with  a 
supplementary  list,  and  we  worked  hard  all  the 
evening.  It  was  not  easy  to  sort  and  mark  all 
the  garments.     The  boys  helped  at  first,  sitting 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    165 

on  the  floor  among  the  heaps  of  blankets,  rolling 
them  and  pinning  on  tickets  until  they  were  drop- 
ping with  sleep ! 

We  have  only  two  bedrooms.  I  have  one,  my 
own  room,  and  Charlotte  and  the  boys  are  next 
to  me.  We  moved  two  beds  into  the  room,  and 
they  are  quite  comfortable. 

Sunday,  December  20th. 

We  have  made  our  distribution,  and  I  think 
have  not  only  given  pleasure,  but  encouraged  the 
people.  We  went  to  church  this  morning  and  the 
cur6  announced  from  the  pulpit  that  there  would 
be  a  distribution  of  warm  clothes  at  the  chateau 
— to  which  every  child  in  Mareuil  was  bidden, 
also  the  girls  and  young  men  still  in  the  village. 
He  hoped  they  would  all  assemble  quietly  and 
punctually  in  the  courtyard,  at  a  quarter  to  3,  di- 
rectly after  vespers. 

We  had  cleared  the  dining-room,  taken  every- 
thing, carpet,  chairs,  and  tables,  out  of  it,  then 
opened  the  folding-doors  into  the  fumoir,  and 
put  a  table  across.  Charlotte  stood  in  the  fumoir 
behind  the  table.  On  one  side  there  was  a  pile 
of  clothes  which  Mme.  G.  passed  to  her,  telling 
her  the  names.  On  the  other,  two  large  baskets 
filled  with  cakes  and  chocolates  which  our  maid 
and  the  little  lingere  from  the  village  distributed. 
We  couldn't  undertake  a  gouter  with  hot  chocolate 
and  brioches.     We  hadn't  any  cups  and  saucers 


1 66  MY  WAR  DIARY 

except  the  few  we  had  brought  down  with  us, 
and  we  couldn't  have  found  a  hundred  in  the 
whole  village. 

By  2.30  the  courtyard  was  filled  with  children 
and  their  mothers.  In  fact  the  whole  village — 
but  we  only  allowed  the  children  inside. 

First  came  the  schoolboys,  marshalled  by  the 
cur6.  (The  schoolmaster  is  mobilised,  but  a 
youth  of  nineteen  comes  every  day  from  a  village 
near  and  takes  the  class.)  The  boys  were  rather 
shy  and  awkward;  didn't  say  much,  but  I  think 
they  were  pleased.  Every  one  got  a  pair  of  trou- 
sers or  warm  cape  with  a  hood,  like  what  they  all 
wear  here.  The  little  ones  got  a  suit,  and  all  got 
two  cakes  and  a  big  piece  of  chocolate.  Then 
came  the  schoolgirls  led  by  the  schoolmistress  and 
her  adjointe — about  a  hundred.  They,  too,  got 
each  one  a  dress,  cloak,  or  warm  petticoat.  Then 
they  trooped  out,  and  another  hundred  arrived 
— boys  and  girls  mixed — mostly  little  waifs  and 
strays — not  schoolchildren;  and  at  the  same  time 
young  mothers  with  babies  in  their  arms.  Then 
there  was  a  fine  pandemonium.  The  women 
talked,  the  babies  cried;  various  children  whose 
names  were  on  the  list  didn't  appear,  and  there 
were  several  quite  unknown  children,  refugees,  or 
from  the  neighbouring  hamlets,  who  had  heard 
of  the  distribution.  They  were  in  rags,  sorely 
needed  clothes,  and  all  got  something. 

Then  came  boys  and  girls  from  twelve  to  seven- 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    167 

teen.  Some  of  the  boys  looked  like  men,  so  tall 
and  broad.  C.  said  she  felt  quite  shy  offering  them 
chocolate  and  cakes,  but  they  all  took  them. 

It  was  after  5  when  the  distribution  was  over. 
C.  was  very  tired>  having  stood  ever  since  break- 
fast. She  did  it  very  prettily  and  graciously. 
She  knew  all  the  children,  having  had  them  in  the 
garden  all  the  month  of  August.  She  had  or- 
ganised a  garderie,  where  the  children  could  come 
every  day  while  their  mothers  were  working  in 
the  fields,  getting  in  the  harvest.  They  had 
games  for  the  little  ones,  and  the  older  girls  worked 
at  socks  or  shirts  for  soldiers. 

The  cur6  announced  that  the  blankets  for  the 
old  women  would  only  be  distributed  the  next 
day,  also  the  wool  for  the  tricoteuses,  who  were 
told  to  come  at  10  o'clock  Monday  morning. 

The  children  had  all  remained  in  the  court- 
yard, and  there  was  a  fine  noise  of  clattering 
sabots  and  shrill  little  voices.  The  air  in  the 
dining-room  with  the  smell  of  muddy  boots  and 
damp  clothes,  was  something  awful.  We  opened 
all  the  windows  wide,  and  dined  in  the  fumoir. 

We  heard  the  cannon  all  the  afternoon. 

Monday,  December  21st. 

Charlotte    had    her    tricoteuses    this    morning 

early — about  twenty.     Of  course  we  supplied  the 

needles  and  wool,  which  was  carefully  weighed, 

each  woman  receiving  the  same  quantity.     Some 


1 68  MY  WAR  DIARY 

of  the  older  ones  knew  how  to  knit  socks,  but  the 
younger  ones  were  a  little  unwilling — could  make 
cache-nez,  but  that  we  absolutely  refused.  Char- 
lotte was  very  severe  with  them;  told  them  she 
didn't  know  either  how  to  knit  stockings  until 
the  war,  but  she  had  learned,  and  now  made  all 
her  husband's  socks.  One  of  the  ladies  of  the 
village  said  any  woman  who  wanted  a  lesson 
could  come  to  her  any  day  between  i  and  2,  and 
she  would  help  her — and  Charlotte  left  a  sock  as 
a  model. 

The  Abbe  Detigne,  cure  de  La  Ferte,  came  to 
breakfast,  and  was  most  interesting.  He  is  a 
very  clever,  cultivated  man,  a  good  earnest  priest, 
devoted  to  his  church,  but  very  large-minded, 
understanding  beliefs  he  doesn't  share,  and  never 
intolerant.  He  behaved  splendidly  all  through 
the  German  occupation.  They  had  Germans  for 
ten  days  at  La  Ferte.  Almost  all  the  official  peo- 
ple— Conseil  Municipal,  percepteur — went  away. 
The  mayor  was  arrested  at  once,  kept  in  prison, 
and  the  cure  and  one  conseiller  municipal  had  all 
the  responsibility.  He  said  on  the  whole  they 
behaved  well;  but  their  revolvers  were  always 
pointed  at  one  if  there  was  the  slightest  discussion 
or  delay. 

They  began  by  asking  a  ransom  of  frs.  20,000 — 
which  the  little  town  couldn't  possibly  pay.  The 
cure  asked  for  a  little  patience,  said  he  would 
do  what  he  could,  and,  escorted  by  four  German 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    169 

soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets,  made  the  round  of 
the  town,  knocking  at  every  door.  He  got  frs. 
7,000 — with  which  they  were  satisfied.  He  had 
soldiers  at  the  Presbytere  and  in  his  churches 
(there  are  two  fine  old  churches  at  La  Fert6), 
which  he  asked  them  to  respect,  and  they  did; 
remained  at  the  bottom  of  the  church,  didn't  go 
up  to  the  high  altar.  He  thought  once  or  twice 
his  last  hour  had  come  when  some  of  the  officers 
either  didn't  understand  all  he  said  (though  he 
said  most  of  them  spoke  French  well),  or  were  not 
satisfied.  Instantly  the  revolver  was  pointed  at 
him,  and  a  curt  order  given  to  the  men.  He 
waited  calmly  and  bravely,  merely  thinking  that, 
if  he  was  to  be  shot,  he  would  ask  to  be  shot  on 
the  Calvaire,  the  cross  near  the  woods — which  we 
all  know  well — have  often  sat  and  rested  on  the 
steps  after  a  walk  in  the  woods — until  he  heard 
the  welcome  words:  "Vous  &tes  libre,  Monsieur 
le  Cure." 

The  last  day,  while  the  soldiers  were  getting 
ready  to  start,  a  young  officer  came  in  whom 
he  hadn't  seen  before.  He  saw  at  once  that  he 
was  a  personage.  The  men  seemed  petrified.  He 
gave  a  few  instructions,  then  turned  to  the  cure, 
drew  up  an  armchair  and  sat  down,  saying :  ' '  Cau- 
sons  un  peu,  Monsieur  le  Cure"  ("Let  us  talk  a 
little"),  and  instantly  plunged  into  a  discussion 
on  the  war.  "What  do  you  think  of  the  war, 
M.  le  Cur6  ?"     "Monsieur,  what  do  you  expect  a 


170  MY  WAR  DIARY 

priest  to  say?  A  war  is  a  wicked  thing."  "Yes, 
but  war  is  war,  and  you  would  have  it.  We  didn't 
want  the  war. ' '  Then  turning  to  his  men :  ' '  That 
is  true,  isn't  it,  my  men?  We  Germans  didn't 
want  the  war;  it  was  forced  upon  us."  There 
was  a  growl  of  assent  from  the  men.  He  then 
continued:  "War  always  brings  horrors,  and 
misery.  Have  you  any  complaints  to  make  of 
my  men  ? "  u  None  whatever ;  they  respected  my 
church,  didn't  molest  the  women  and  children." 
"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  M.  le  Cur6." 
Then  he  got  up  and  put  out  his  hand,  saying, 
"Au  revoir";  but  that  was  too  much  for  the 
abb6.  .  "That,  Madame,  I  could  not  do — give  my 
hand  to  a  German.  I  stood  up,  looked  him  full 
in  the  face,  and  made  the  salut  militaire.  He 
stepped  back,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  gave 
the  military  salute,  very  stiffly,  saying,  "Je  vous 
comprends,  Monsieur  l'Abbe,"  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  left  the  room. 

He  heard  afterward  that  it  was  Prince  Eitel 
Fritz,  whom  he  had  never  seen — the  first  time  in 
his  life,  probably,  that  any  one  had  refused  his 
hand. 

The  boys,  of  course,  sat  speechless,  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  abbe.  He  told  us  hundreds  of  de- 
tails too  long  to  write;  but  said  there  were  no 
atrocities  nor  violence  of  any  kind  at  La  Ferte, 
though  in  some  of  the  farms  and  villages  near 
awful  things  had  been  done — but  he  personally 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    171 

had  not  seen  any  acts  of  cruelty.  He  has  cer- 
tainly made  a  fine  record.  When  the  war  is  over, 
all  his  friends  will  try  to  have  some  public  recog- 
nition of  what  he  has  done  for  La  Ferte. 

After  he  had  gone  Charlotte  and  the  boys  went 
to  the  poste  des  gendarmes,  and  gave  them  what 
we  had  left  in  the  way  of  socks.  Just  as  we  were 
starting  for  the  train  we  had  the  visit  of  an  offi- 
cer du  train  de  ravitaillement,  to  thank  us  for 
what  we  had  sent  his  men.  He  told  us  he  was 
the  first  person  to  come  into  our  house  after  the 
Germans  had  left,  and  that  no  words  could  de- 
scribe the  filth.  His  men  put  a  little  order,  and 
picked  up  and  put  in  drawers  some  of  the  papers 
that  were  lying  about. 

Among  other  things  that  the  Germans  took  was 
all  the  writing-paper  stamped  "  Mareuil-sur-Ourcq, 
Oise."  I  had  just  got  over  a  lot  from  England. 
One  wouldn't  think  that  would  be  very  useful  in 
Germany! 

The  cure'  came  in  after  dinner,  and  we  made 
all  our  arrangements  for  the  women's  work,  sew- 
ing and  knitting.  He  says  the  village  is  very 
pleased  with  our  coming  down — not  only  the 
material  help,  but  the  encouragement.  One  old 
woman,  the  widow  of  a  carpenter,  who  had  done 
much  work  for  us,  came  to  say  that  she  would 
cut  out  the  shirts.  Her  father  had  been  a  che- 
misier  in  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  and  she  knew  all  about 
it;   would  also  look  over  the  women's  work  and 


172  MY  WAR  DIARY 

see  that  it  was  well  done.  She  wanted  no  pay 
(at  our  Paris  ouvroir  we  give  a  tailor  5  sous  for 
cutting  out  a  shirt),  was  very  happy  to  do  that 
for  the  soldiers.     We  leave  to-morrow,  early. 


Paris,  Thursday,  December  24th. 
Charlotte  and  I  went  out  this  morning  to  do 
a  little,  very  little  shopping.  She  won't  have  a 
Christmas  tree,  which  the  boys  quite  understand. 
' '  War  times ' '  explains  everything.  But  they  have 
their  creche  as  usual,  as  all  the  animals  and  rois 
mages  are  there;  and  hung  up  their  stockings — 
one  for  father,  and  we  will  send  him  a  Christmas 
paquet,  with  a  plum-pudding. 

Christmas  Day. 
I  went  to  the  American  church  this  morning. 
I  felt  I  must  hear  "Hark  the  herald  angels  sing." 
There  was  quite  a  large  congregation ;  several  sol- 
diers in  uniform.  Our  dinner  was  as  cheerful  as 
it  could  be  under  the  circumstances.  We  had 
the  Sallandrouzes,  Madame  and  Madeleine,  Jean 
and  his  wife,  the  W.'s,  and  C.  and  the  boys.  We 
had  a  small  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  just 
to  mark  the  day.  We  tried  not  to  miss  Francis 
too  awfully;  choked  a  little  when  we  drank  to 
our  men  at  the  front.  I  wonder  what  next 
Christmas  will  bring  us,  and  how  many  places  will 
be    empty    at    the    Christmas    dinner.     But   we 


OCTOBER  TO  DECEMBER,  1914    173 

mustn't  look  forward,  only  be  thankful  that  after 
five  months  of  war  none  of  our  men  are  touched. 

Sunday,  December  27. 
It  was  cold  and  bright  this  morning.  I  went 
to  the  English  church  in  the  rue  Auguste  Vac- 
querie.  I  like  Mr.  Cardew  so  much — always 
stay  for  his  sermons;  they  are  so  simple,  suited  to 
everybody,  and  yet  so  scholarly  and  thought  out. 

Tuesday,  December  29th. 

The  days  are  so  exactly  alike.  Time  slips  by 
without  our  realising  how  fast  it  goes.  The  Eng- 
lish papers  are  amusing  this  morning:  All  the 
Tommies  so  pleased  with  their  plum-puddings  and 
Christmas  gift  from  the  Queen  and  Princess  Mary. 

I  am  writing  late,  just  to  see  the  old  year  out. 
The  street  is  perfectly  quiet  and  dark.  No  balls, 
no  reveillons.  This  tragic  year  finishes  in  darkness 
and  silence.  Certainly  if  Paris  had  become  too 
frivolous  and  pleasure-loving,  she  is  expiating  it 
now.  The  people  themselves  are  so  changed. 
They  are  not  sad ;  that  isn't  the  word,  but  serious, 
engrossed  with  the  men  in  the  ranks  and  the 
women  and  children  left  behind  them. 

Paris  is  caring  well  for  all  her  children.  There 
are  ouvroirs  and  free  meals  (very  good)  every- 
where. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE 
1915 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE 
1915 

Saturday,  January  2nd,  '15. 
It  was  bright  and  cold  this  morning.  I  had  an 
interesting  visit  from  a  Quaker  lady,  Miss  Fel- 
lowes,  whom  Austin  Lee  sent  me.  She  has  come 
over  with  friends  to  do  what  good  they  can  to  the 
civil  population  of  the  north  of  France,  and  is  now 
working  in  the  department  of  the  Aisne,  which 
has  been  frightfully  devastated.  Their  religion 
forbids  them  to  have  anything  to  do  with  soldiers, 
or  the  fighters  of  the  world.  They  will  find  much 
suffering  and  distress  in  all  the  country  where 
the  Germans  have  passed. 

Friday,  January  8th. 
To-day  is  Willy's  tenth  birthday.  We  couldn't 
let  the  day  pass  without  some  little  rejoicing. 
They  didn't  want  a  party  or  any  little  friends, 
but  he  had  his  cake  and  candles,  and  whatever 
money  he  got  was  put  away  for  "Papa's  soldiers." 
Francis  begs  us  to  send  clothes  and  blankets  for 
his  regiment  whenever  we  can. 

Sunday,  January  10th. 
Still  no  war  news.     The  communiques  are  very 
meagre.     I  suppose  it  is  right  not  to  give  too 
many  details,  but  one  longs  for  something  from 
the  front. 

177 


178  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Two  days  ago  the  Germans  bombarded  Sois- 
sons  furiously,  and  tried  to  advance  to  our 
trenches,  but  were  beaten  back. 

I  went  to  tea  this  afternoon  with  the  Duchesse 
de  T.  Only  about  eight  people.  Mmes.  de  B. 
and  d'A.  were  there.  Neither  of  them  have  had 
a  line  from  their  chateaux  or  villages  since  some 
time  in  September.  Comte  de  B.  remained  in  his 
chateau — is  practically  a  prisoner  there — as  he 
has  a  German  general  with  his  staff  in  his  house. 
He  would  not  leave;  sent  his  wife  away,  but  said 
it  was  his  duty  to  stay  in  his  place  and  keep  his 
village  from  being  burned,  and  the  women  and 
children  shot.  It  has  been  reported  once  or  twice 
that  he  was  shot;  but  the  news  has  filtered  out 
that  he  is  alive.  The  Germans  told  him  he  might 
write  to  his  family  if  he  would  use  a  German 
stamp,  and  date  his  letter:  "Folambray  [the 
name  of  his  village],  Deutschland,"  but  that  he 
refused  absolutely  to  do. 

In  all  the  countries  occupied  by  the  Germans, 
they  have  established  their  own  post-office,  and 
use  German  stamps. 

The  Comtesse  d'A.'s  chateau  is  also  occupied  by 
Germans.  None  of  her  family  are  living  there. 
She  is  a  widow,  her  two  sons  in  the  army. 

Saturday,  January  16th,  'is. 
We  had  a  nice  letter  from  Francis  this  morning. 
He  is  getting  used  to  the  shells;    doesn't  mind 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         179 

them  so  much.  The  first  two  or  three  times  that 
he  carried  despatches  at  night  over  impossible 
roads,  deafened  by  the  cannon — quite  dark;  the 
only  light  the  shells  bursting  all  around  him — he 
didn't  like  it  much,  particularly  being  alone. 
When  there  are  two  of  them  it  doesn't  seem  so 
awful. 

Monday,  January  18th. 

The  cure"  came  to  breakfast,  giving  us  all  the 
Mareuil  news.  He  brought  up  forty  pairs  of  socks 
our  tricoteuses  had  made,  and  wanted  more  wool, 
which  we  will  give  him  to-morrow,  when  he  goes 
back.  He  says  the  village  is  trying  to  readjust 
itself  and  take  up  its  normal  life  again.  If  only 
we  would  come  down  and  settle  in  the  country; 
but  that  is  not  possible. 

I  dined  quietly  with  the  S£gurs.  I  don't  much 
like  going  out  at  night ;  the  streets  are  so  dark  and 
empty,  but  they  promised  to  send  me  home  in 
their  auto.  They  have  still  no  news  of  Claude 
Perier.  They  have  had  a  letter  from  one  of  his 
men  who  saw  him  fall  at  the  head  of  his  com- 
pany, but  he  thinks  he  was  not  killed,  only 
wounded  and  a  prisoner. 

We  sat  in  S.'s  library  (no  one  opens  their  big 
rooms)  and  we  two  women  knitted,  and  he  read 
the  paper  to  us.  It  would  have  been  a  peaceful, 
happy  evening  if  we  hadn't  been  so  oppressed 
with  the  thought  of  what  might  still  come  to  us. 


180  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Saturday,  January  23rd. 

It  was  beautiful  this  morning.  I  walked  over 
to  Mme.  de  J.'s  for  lunch.  She  had  Mmes.  S. 
and  M.  We  all  talked  war  and  ouvroir  hard. 
The  ladies  asked  me  why  Francis  was  not  with  the 
British  army  as  interpreter,  knowing  French  and 
English  as  well  as  he  does.  It  seems  that  some  of 
the  Frenchmen  who  have  gone  as  interpreters 
speak  such  extraordinary  English  that  the  Brit- 
ish officers  can't  understand  their  orders. 

M.  d'H.  came  in  after  breakfast.  He  is  fright- 
fully changed  since  the  war.  His  chateau  has 
been  entirely  destroyed — bombarded,  burnt,  pil- 
laged. He  and  his  wife  and  daughters  had  just 
time  to  get  away.  Mme.  d'H.  arrived  in  England 
without  a  hat.  The  poor  man  is  almost  crazy, 
but  puts  all  the  fault  on  this  infect  gouvernement 
— but  one  can't  discuss  with  him.  He  is  quite 
unbalanced  for  the  moment. 

We  had  a  procession  of  soldiers  at  the  ouvroir, 
starting  for  the  front  and  wanting  warm  clothes. 
There  were  eight  gunners,  conducteurs  d'automo- 
biles  blindes,  fine,  strong  young  fellows.  All  had 
been  wounded,  but  were  quite  well  and  crazy  to 
go  back.  After  them,  some  reservistes.  That 
was  rather  pitiful,  as  all  had  wives  and  families; 
some  of  them  looking  as  if  they  could  not  stand 
much  hard  work.  However,  the  spirit  was  just 
the  same  as  in  the  younger  men.  All  quite  ready 
to  go,  and  confident  that  their  wives  and  children 
would  be  looked  after. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  181 

It  seems  some  of  the  reservistes  have  developed 
into  capital  soldiers  after  four  or  five  months  of 
training. 

Francis*  captain  is  a  patissier  de  Montmartre; 
didn't  look  very  military  at  first,  but  has  become 
a  smart,  well  set-up  officer.  I  think  they  are  all 
anxious  to  do  well,  and  prove  to  their  country 
that  she  can  count  upon  all  her  sons  in  her  hour 
of  need. 

Francis'  own  position  is  amusing,  as  he  is  only 
a  simple  soldat;  no  rank  at  all.  He  can't  live 
with  the  officers;  but  when  off  duty  the  officers 
and  men  all  call  him  Monsieur  Waddington,  and 
the  Colonel  invites  him  to  breakfast. 

Friday,  January  29th,  1915. 

We  didn't  have  many  people  at  the  ouvroir. 
Mmes.  Seilli&re  et  Simeon — the  last  always  most 
interesting.  Francis  couldn't  get  her  any  news 
of  her  house  at  Rheims.  They  haven't  been  al- 
lowed to  go  there  lately,  as  the  Germans  shell  the 
town  furiously  every  now  and  then. 

Our  stuffs  are  giving  out,  and  our  poor  women 
increasing  in  number.  Some  of  them  look  too 
awful,  half  starved  and  half  clothed.  I  didn't  like 
to  ask  one  poor  thing  who  came  with  two  children, 
both  practically  babies,  four  weeks  and  one  year 
old,  if  she  had  any  clothes  on  under  her  dress — I 
don't  think  she  had.  She  knew  nothing  of  her  hus- 
band ;  had  had  no  news  since  the  beginning  of  De- 
cember. 


1 82  MY  WAR  DIARY 

We  must  start  a  Women  and  Children's  Depart- 
ment— and  have  ordered  from  London  a  thousand 
yards  of  flannel  and  a  thousand  of  cotton.  We  get 
it  quickly  enough.  It  is  sent  over  through  the 
British  Red  Cross  direct  to  us  at  the  ouvroir. 

The  Tiffanys  and  Charlotte  dined.  C.  had  an 
interesting  letter  from  Francis.  He  is  getting 
accustomed  to  the  shells,  learns  how  to  dodge 
them,  but  says  the  heavy  cannonading  is  terrific 
— seems  to  take  his  head  off. 

Tiffany  is  always  interesting,  as  he  sees  so  many 
business  men,  both  British  and  Americans;  says 
there  is  no  doubt  of  the  American  sympathy  for 
the  Allies,  though  they  are  struggling  to  remain 
neutral.  .  .  . 

Sunday,  January  31st. 
The  Quakers  came  to  see  me  at  the  ouvroir 
to-day;  they  couldn't  say  enough  of  the  Abbe 
Detigne,  our  cure  of  La  Ferte-Milon,  and  all  he 
had  done  for  them.  They  were  obliged  to  give 
up  the  farmhouse  they  had  taken  between  St. 
Quentin  and  Soissons  (it  was  too  near  the  firing- 
line),  and  had  established  themselves  at  La  Ferte. 
They  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  have 
distributed  many  clothes  and  blankets  to  the 
miserable  people  of  the  pays  envahis.  They  don't 
do  any  hospital  work,  care  exclusively  for  the 
civil  population.  They  don't  wear  the  Quaker 
dress,  and  don't  use  the  "thou"  and  "thee"  that 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  183 

I  remember  as  a  child  in  some  parts  of  America. 
But  the  women  have  earnest,  gentle  faces.  They 
left  us  quite  a  large  order.  Of  course  we  are  de- 
lighted to  sell  a  little.  We  have  sent  off  so  many 
paquets  militaires  that  our  funds  are  getting  low. 

Tuesday,  February  2nd,  '15, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 

Charlotte  and  I  took  our  paquet  for  Francis  to 
the  Invalides  this  morning,  which  was  accepted  at 
once.  The  last  one  was  refused.  We  heard  the 
explanation  later.  We  took  over  two  enormous 
paquets  one  day,  much  over  the  regulation  size, 
but  as  we  said  they  were  clothes  and  blankets  for 
the  soldiers,  they  took  them.  It  is  much  the  best 
way  to  send  packages,  as  they  go  through  in  one 
day  by  the  military  autos.  All  we  send  by  rail, 
goes  first  to  Caen,  the  d£p6t  of  the  regiment,  and 
from  there  to  Francis,  near  Rheims,  which  makes 
an  enormous  loss  of  time.  When  there  are  any 
eatables  (he  clamours  for  green  vegetables  and 
fruit)  the  trajet  is  long. 

It  seems  that  the  two  big  packages,  instead  of 
being  delivered  to  Francis  at  his  regimental  bureau, 
were  sent  to  the  Division  Headquarters,  and 
dumped  in  the  General's  anteroom.  He  went 
into  a  rage  at  seeing  these  packages  for  "Soldat 
Waddington"  in  his  anteroom;  and  an  aide-de- 
camp, a  friend  of  Francis,  motored  over  in  hot 
haste  to  Francis  to  see  what  it  meant.     Francis 


1 84  MY  WAR  DIARY 

was  much  disgusted,  and  explained  that  the  bal- 
lots contained  clothes  and  blankets  for  the  regi- 
ment, sent  by  his  mother  from  her  ouvroir.  The 
aide-de-camp  said  he  would  make  that  all  right, 
and  started  of!  for  Headquarters.  He  reappeared 
with  the  ballots  and  a  message  of  thanks  from  the 
General,  and  the  hope  that  Mme.  Waddington 
would  send  some  more  warm  clothes  for  the  men. 
But  in  the  meantime,  the  young  officer  at  the  In- 
valides  had  been  hauled  over  the  coals  probably. 
All's  well  that  ends  well,  however;  and  now  they 
take  our  packages. 

Thursday,  February  4th. 

I  didn't  stay  long  at  the  ouvroir,  as  I  was  going 
to  dine  with  the  W.'s  at  their  hdtel.  Two  nice 
people  came  to  their  salon  after  dinner — a  M. 
Perritet  and  his  mother.  He  is  from  New  Or- 
leans, speaks  French  well,  and  goes  often  to  the 
front,  to  a  hospital  organised  by  Mme.  de  P., 
nee  MacMahon  (the  Marshal's  daughter).  He 
is  going  again  soon,  and  expects  to  take  a  great 
many  things. 

He  says  the  American  Clearing-House  is  won- 
derfully filled  with  every  imaginable  thing,  from 
bedsteads  to  boxes  of  Quaker  oats. 

It  was  a  bright,  cold  moonlight  night.  W. 
walked  home  with  me.  The  streets  are  perfectly 
dark  and  deserted.  A  footfall  on  one  of  the  nar- 
row streets  quite  startles  one.     I  think  ours  is  the 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  185 

darkest  of  all.  Hardly  any  one  has  come  back. 
There  are  no  lights  in  the  houses,  and  only  one 
lamp  at  the  bottom  of  the  street. 

Saturday,  February  6th. 

I  was  rather  tired  at  the  ouvroir  to-day.  There 
were  so  many  women,  and  they  all  talked  so  much, 
and  knew  so  much;  apparently  every  one  had 
constant  and  confidential  communications  from 
General  Joffre. 

I  met  Henry  Outrey  at  the  door  and  told  him 
he  must  take  me  somewhere  for  a  cup  of  tea.  I 
was  tired  with  so  much  female  conversation. 
Outrey  is  working  at  the  Croix  Rouge;  goes 
three  or  four  times  a  week  to  the  station  at 
Aubervilliers,  near  Paris,  where  the  trains  of 
wounded  soldiers  arrive.  They  stop  there  to  have 
their  wounds  dressed.  There  is  a  hospital  on  the 
quay.  The  Red  Cross  nurses  always  there.  He 
stays  all  night  (so  do  the  women),  and  says  the 
sights  are  awful;  some  of  the  men  too  badly 
hurt  to  go  on  are  taken  out  of  the  train  and  laid 
on  mattresses  or  piles  of  straw,  on  the  quay,  until 
they  can  be  attended  to.  They  never  complain; 
try  to  smile  and  thank  when  any  one  brings  them 
a  bowl  of  soup  or  a  cup  of  hot  coffee. 

Henry  says  they  are  terrible  objects,  their  uni- 
forms filled  with  dust  and  blood,  which  stiffens 
on  the  thick  cloth  of  their  capotes,  unwashed, 
unshaven.     I  suppose  one  must  go  on  to  the  bitter 


1 86  MY  WAR  DIARY 

end;  but  I  ask  myself  sometimes,  if  it  is  worth 
the  frightful  sacrifice  of  life.  I  often  stop  at  the 
church  of  St.  Philippe  du  Roule  on  my  way  home. 
Already  there  are  so  many  women  in  deep  mourn- 
ing— what  will  it  be  later? 

Tuesday,  February  9th. 
Mme.  Thenard  (de  la  Comedie-Francaise)  gave 
a  conference  on  Deroulede  this  afternoon  at  the 
ouvroir.  She  is  always  interesting,  and  though 
she  has  lost  her  wonderful  voice,  she  uses  such 
beautiful  language  and  speaks  with  so  much 
emotion  that  the  audience,  quite  numerous,  was 
moved  to  tears.  She  recited  the  Clairon,  and 
wound  up  with  an  appeal  to  the  women  of  France 
to  lead  more  earnest,  simple  lives.  Men  are  what 
women  make  them,  and  the  mothers  and  wives 
have  a  terrible  responsibility  in  these  awful  days. 
There  was  a  wounded  officer  in  the  audience,  just 
from  the  Yser,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  a 
Belgian  boy  scout  sixteen  years  old,  who  had  been 
nineteen  times  through  the  enemy's  lines,  and  had 
been  decorated  by  the  King  of  the  Belgians, 
who  pinned  his  medal  himself  on  his  coat.  He 
was,  of  course,  surrounded  and  questioned  after 
the  conference,  but  looked  very  shy  and  uncom- 
fortable, finding  himself  the  object  of  general 
attention.  However,  I  don't  think  any  one  kissed 
him,  which  sometimes  happens  in  these  emotional 
days. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  187 

Thursday,  February  nth. 

There  is  startling  news  this  morning.  Gerard, 
U.  S.  Ambassador,  insulted  at  a  Berlin  theatre — 
most  angry,  hostile  demonstration.  Of  course 
we  have  it  only  in  the  papers.  It  may  be  exag- 
gerated. I  can't  think  that  Germany  wants  to 
quarrel  with  America.  It  would  be  about  the 
last  blunder  she  could  make. 

I  don't  know  Mr.  Gerard,  but  I  hear  that  he  is 
a  cool,  clever  lawyer,  who  would  resent  the  least 
slight  to  America. 

Friday,  February  12th. 
We  were  busy  all  the  afternoon  at  the  ouvroir, 
making  pacquets  militaires.  We  sent  off  a  good 
one  to  Mme.  Machery,  the  "Mayor  of  Soissons." 
My  husband  knew  Soissons  well  in  earlier  years 
when  he  was  Senator  for  the  Aisne.  Mme.  M. 
has  shown  wonderful  courage  ever  since  the  war 
broke  out,  and  for  the  last  two  or  three  days 
there  have  been  appeals  in  the  papers  for  the 
refugees,  who  are  leaving  it  en  masse.  Half  the 
town  is  in  ashes.  Such  a  typical  old  French 
cathedral  town,  with  its  broad,  quiet  streets,  with 
old-fashioned  houses  behind  high  walls — the  beau- 
tiful ruins  of  the  St.  Jean  des  Vignes — and  on  mar- 
ket-days the  main  street  and  hotel  (the  "Cheval 
Blanc")  crowded  with  farmers  and  country  peo- 
ple. What  all  that  country  will  look  like  when  the 
Germans  finally  retreat  one  can't  imagine;    they 


1 88  MY  WAR  DIARY 

will  certainly  burn  and  destroy  all  they  can.  It 
will  take  years  to  restore  any  kind  of  trade  or 
prosperity. 

Mareuil,  Saturday,  February  13th,  1915. 

We  got  down  yesterday  at  2.30.  The  boys  had 
a  holiday  for  Mardi  Gras,  and  of  course  wanted 
to  come  to  Mareuil.  It  was  a  cold,  boring  jour- 
ney. We  had  the  same  long  wait  at  Ormoy,  but 
we  did  not  mind  it  so  much  this  time  as  the  station 
was  crowded  with  soldiers.  Two  military  trains 
with  dragoons  and  cuirassiers  arrived  just  after 
us;  all  of  them,  officers,  men,  and  horses,  looked 
very  well  and  cheerful.  They  had  come  from 
Amiens;  hadn't  had  much  fighting  yet,  and  were 
on  their  way  to  the  front.  They  didn't  know 
where.  The  little  station  was  in  an  uproar  at 
once.  The  officers  asked  for  papers.  There  were 
none  at  the  station,  nor  at  the  caf6  just  across  the 
road,  so  we  told  the  boys  to  give  ours,  which  they 
accepted  gladly. 

The  fatigue-dress  of  some  of  the  officers  was 
most  remarkable — brown  corduroy  breeches,  a 
khaki  coat — and  one  big,  rather  red-faced  man 
had  a  knitted  polo-cap,  green  and  yellow,  on  his 
\:ad. 

The  country  looked  still  very  desolate,  and  the 
work  of  repairing  goes  very  slowly ;  but  there  was 
a  little  more  movement — some  women  in  the 
fields,  one  with  a  plough  and  a  donkey,  trying  to 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  189 

turn  up  the  ground  a  little.  Soldiers,  of  course, 
everywhere.  Even  the  little  country  line  from 
Ormoy  to  Mareuil  is  strictly  guarded,  particularly 
at  all  bridges  and  tunnels.  I  think  they  must  be 
afraid  of  spies  still,  for  no  troops  pass  on  that  line. 

We  found  the  house  fairly  comfortable.  Mme. 
Gaillard  had  received  our  letters,  and  she  and 
Lucie  had  worked  hard  to  make  the  rooms  habita- 
ble, collecting  all  the  whole  chairs  and  tables  from 
all  over  the  house.  It  was  not  oppressively  hot, 
though  there  were  fires  in  our  rooms  and  the  big 
stove  in  the  hall  was  lighted — but  as  we  cannot 
get  any  coal,  of  course  we  can  have  no  great  heat 
with  the  very  small  pieces  of  wood  they  send 
from  the  usine. 

We  found  quite  a  pile  of  shirts,  drawers,  and 
socks  in  the  lingerie — really  very  well  made;  the 
socks  much  better  than  we  expected.  There  were 
two  or  three  pairs  that  were  a  little  eccentric  as 
to  shape — heels  a  little  wide — but  I  fancy  our 
poor  soldiers  in  their  trenches,  half  full  of  water, 
won't  be  very  particular  as  to  shapes,  so  long  as 
they  have  something  warm  to  put  on. 

We  have  very  few  Belgians  in  the  village, 
though  we  are  so  near  the  frontier,  and  they  are 
all  very  quiet  and  grateful  for  whatever  is  done 
for  them.  In  Paris,  we  heard  complaints.  At 
one  big  Belgian  ouvroir  the  refugees  declined  the 
clothes  that  were  given  to  them,  wanted  to  go  to 
the  vestiaire  and  choose  for  themselves. 


i9o  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Sunday,  February  14th,  '15. 

It  was  lovely  to-day — a  bright  sun.  It  was  so 
cold  in  the  church  we  had  to  change  our  seats, 
and  even  then  could  hardly  stay.  A  large  pane 
of  glass  is  out  in  the  window  just  over  our  pew, 
and  there  is  no  glass  in  the  country,  and  no  work- 
man to  put  it  in  if  there  was  any. 

We  took  a  long  walk  after  breakfast  through 
the  big  quarries  on  the  La  Ferte  road,  coming  out 
on  the  Montigny  hill.  We  had  the  fields  to  our- 
selves. Not  a  soul  to  be  seen.  The  quarries  are 
enormous,  stretching  far  into  the  woods,  and  one 
can  understand  perfectly  how  strongly  the  Ger- 
mans are  intrenched  in  the  Soissons  quarries, 
which  we  stupidly  and  thoughtlessly  put  at  the 
disposal  of  a  delightful  German  en  civil  (some 
people  say  it  was  General  von  Kluck),  who  set- 
tled some  time  in  Soissons.  He  took  a  house 
there,  made  himself  charming  to  all  the  inhabi- 
tants, rode  all  over  the  country,  and  finally  ob- 
tained permission  to  grow  mushrooms  in  the 
quarries.  Of  course,  as  one  looks  back  now,  our 
naivete  seems  colossal,  to  use  the  German's  pet 
word. 

They  have  carried  off  many  French  women  and 
children,  who  live  with  them  in  the  quarries,  cook 
for  them,  and  go  into  Soissons  to  buy  food,  the 
Germans  threatening  them  with  terrible  re- 
prisals if  they  don't  come  back,  keeping  their 
children  as  hostages.     One  of  the  difficult  ques- 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  191 

tions  after  the  war  will  be  what  to  do  with  the 
German  babies  born  in  the  trenches.  One  Bel- 
gian priest  said  from  the  pulpit  that  they  ought 
to  be  killed  at  once,  or  not  allowed  to  be  born; 
but  I  suppose  one  can't  resort  to  such  drastic 
measures.  They  will  be  allowed  to  live  probably, 
but  sent  to  the  "Assistance  Publique,"  and  then 
to  the  colonies. 

It  was  warm  walking,  and  the  sunset  lovely. 
The  cure  came  to  dinner  and  told  us  more  details 
of  their  wanderings,  which  seem  already  ancient 
history — events  have  gone  so  quickly  since.  He 
told  us  that  for  nights  after  their  return  to  Ma- 
reuil,  he  couldn't  sleep;  all  night  he  heard  the 
trample  of  cattle  and  the  roll  of  heavy  cart  wagons 
on  the  hard  roads.  He  said  the  women  were  won- 
derful. Many  of  the  farmers'  wives  led  their 
caravan  of  women,  children,  and  beasts.  The 
village  travelled  for  days  alongside  of  one  large, 
well-known  farm.  The  fermi£re  led  the  proces- 
sion in  a  cabriolet  with  an  old  horse  the  Ger- 
mans didn't  think  worth  taking;  beside  her  an 
equally  old  contremaitre  (overseer);  oxen,  cows, 
sheep,  and  geese  directly  behind.  Then  a  train 
of  farm-wagons  filled  with  women  and  children. 
When  they  came  to  a  carrefour  (a  square  place 
where  several  roads  meet),  she  made  signs  to  her 
troupeau  (flock)  with  a  red  parasol  over  the  top 
of  her  cabriolet..  They  halted  at  night — all  drawn 
up  on  one  side  of  the  road,  and  she  and  her  contre- 


i92  MY  WAR  DIARY 

maitre  went  off  to  see  if  they  could  find  food  or 
shelter  in  a  hamlet  or  farm — happy  if  they  could 
be  taken  in,  in  a  barn  or  a  wood-shed.  My  poor 
women  slept  two  nights  in  a  field  under  the  hay- 
stacks. 

Monday,  February  15th. 

It  was  an  awful  morning,  hail  and  frozen  snow 
and  an  icy  wind.  We  all  shivered  even  with  our 
coats  on,  and  an  expedition  to  La  Ferte  seemed 
impossible;  but  it  cleared  up  bright  and  mild  at 
12  o'clock,  and  we  started  directly  after  break- 
fast— always  in  Bourgeois's  tapissiere — the  only 
available  vehicle.  Charlotte,  remembering  her 
last  experience,  when  she  had  to  hang  her  hat  on 
a  nail  on  the  side,  had  put  on  a  soft  felt  with  only 
a  ribbon  around  the  crown,  and  we  all  managed 
to  get  in  and  jolted  along  very  uncomfortably. 
We  met  nothing  on  the  road  until  we  got  to  Ma- 
rolles.  There  we  fell  in  with  an  army  of  auto- 
buses and  big  lorries,  taking  up  the  whole  road 
and  making  it  very  difficult  for  us  to  pass.  It  was 
the  service  de  ravitaillement.  Their  headquarters 
are  at  the  Chateau  de  Bourneville  and  La  FertS. 
There  were  three  hundred  lorries  at  La  Fert6. 
They  radiate  from  there  in  all  directions.  The 
town  was  crowded  with  soldiers  and  officers. 

We  didn't  see  the  Abbe  Detigne.  He  wasn't 
at  home,  and  his  sister  didn't  know  where  to  look 
for  him.     We  went  to  see  one  of  our  friends,  Mr. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  193 

C,  and  rang  a  loud  peal  at  the  door-bell,  not 
observing — as  the  door  was  wide  open — that  a 
notice  was  posted  up:   "Etat-Major." 

There  were  one  or  two  soldiers  in  the  court- 
yard, and  two  officers  came  running  up  to  ask 
what  we  wanted.  We  explained  that  we  wanted 
to  pay  a  visit  to  Mr.  C.  They  said  he  was  not 
there,  and  that  the  staff  were  occupying  his  house 
— but  wouldn't  we  come  in  and  pay  them  a  visit, 
and  what  could  they  do  for  us  ?  That  we  declined, 
but  talked  to  them  a  little  while,  and  asked  them 
if  there  was  any  news.  We  met  them  again  as 
we  were  talking  to  some  of  the  lorry-drivers,  who 
told  us  the  lorries  were  all  American,  marvellously 
light  and  easily  managed;  turned  so  well  in  the 
narrow  streets.  They  were  evidently  very  curious 
to  know  who  we  were,  suddenly  appearing  in  La 
Ferte,  where  certainly  no  femmes  du  monde  were 
to  be  seen  in  these  days.  One  of  them  made 
friends  with  Frank,  and  carried  him  off  to  his 
rooms  over  the  barber's,  to  get  some  chocolate. 
They  brought  out  a  box  of  Marquis  chocolates 
and  distributed  it  freely  to  us  all,  filling  the  boys' 
pockets. 

We  had  gouter  at  the  Sauvage — very  good 
chocolate,  cafe  au  lait,  bread  and  butter  and  jam, 
but  none  of  the  cakes  for  which  the  house  was 
famous  in  the  old  days.  The  son  of  the  house, 
who  is  an  excellent  pastry-cook,  is  at  the  front. 
Mme.  Thomas  was  so  pleased  to  see  us,  telling  the 


i94  MY  WAR  DIARY 

boys  she  remembered  their  father  quite  well  when 
he  was  much  smaller  than  they.  She  wouldn't 
let  us  pay  anything,  brought  in  the  gouter  herself, 
and  sat  at  the  table  with  us  and  talked.  She  just 
remembered  '70,  and  seeing  the  Germans  in  La 
Ferte.  However,  she  said  they  behaved  well 
this  time,  paid  for  what  they  took,  and  did  not 
molest  the  women  and  children. 

We  went  into  all  the  shops,  buying  what  we 
could,  and  hearing  each  one's  experience  during 
the  German  occupation.  They  really  didn't 
suffer  very  much.  They  had  time  to  hide  money 
and  valuables  of  every  kind,  as  the  British  passed 
through  twenty-four  hours  before  the  Germans, 
and  told  them  they  were  coming.  It  was  more 
the  dread  of  what  might  happen.  Some  of  the 
people  left,  and  their  houses  were  sacked,  but 
nothing  was  done  to  those  who  remained. 

One  of  our  friends  left  her  cook  in  her  house. 
The  woman  preferred  staying.  When  the  Ger- 
mans arrived,  the  officer  in  command  sent  for  her, 
ordered  all  doors  opened,  and  asked  her  where  her 
mistress  was;  knew  all  about  her,  that  she  was 
a  widow  living  alone  with  her  servants.  When 
the  cook  answered  that  she  had  gone  away,  he 
said  she  was  wrong.  "We  don't  hurt  women  and 
children."  The  cook  replied  indignantly:  "Per- 
haps you  don't!  hurt  them,  you  kill  them  ! "  Upon 
which  she  was  told  to  hold  her  tongue  and  leave 
the  room. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  195 

We  left  about  4.30.  It  was  curious  to  hear 
such  a  racket  of  military  life  in  the  quiet  little 
town — a  continual  rumbling  of  heavy  munition 
and  provision  autos,  small  detachments  of  cavalry, 
every  now  and  then  a  military  auto  filled  with 
officers  dashing  full  speed  through  the  narrow 
street;  men  carrying  large  marmites  of  soup  and 
baskets  of  bread,  and  girls  standing  at  the  doors, 
laughing  and  talking  with  the  soldiers.  I  rather 
tremble  for  the  morals  of  La  Ferte  with  so  many 
good-looking  young  soldiers  about,  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  do  anything:  "On  ne  peut  rien  refuser  au 
soldat !"  is  the  phrase  on  everybody's  lips. 

We  were  decidedly  exhausted  when  we  got  home, 
cramped  and  stiff  from  sitting  so  long  on  the  hard, 
narrow  seats  of  the  tapissiere.  The  village  was 
perfectly  dark — only  a  light  flashed  for  a  moment 
on  the  bayonet  of  the  guard  at  the  bridge,  who 
stopped  us  to  see  if  we  had  our  pass. 

Mardi  Gras,  February  16th. 
It  has  been  a  bright,  beautiful  day.  One  could 
hardly  believe  it  after  the  cold  rain  and  hail  of 
yesterday.  We  walked  about  the  garden  in  the 
morning — if  garden  it  can  be  called.  All  the 
lawns  and  flower-beds  have  been  dug  up.  The 
house  stands  in  the  middle  of  ploughed  fields. 
We  are  debating  what  we  shall  plant — potatoes 
and  beans,  I  think,  so  that  we  can  have  our  vege- 
tables in  winter,  as  well  as  improve  the  earth. 


196  MY  WAR  DIARY 

They  say  potatoes  purify  the  soil,  and  perhaps 
next  year,  if  the  war  is  over,  we  can  have  new 
lawns,  but  we  shan't  do  anything  to  the  house 
and  garden  until  the  Germans  are  out  of  France 
— when  ? 

After  breakfast,  we  walked  up  the  Montigny  hill. 
The  boys  wanted  to  see  what  was  left  of  a  German 
aeroplane  which  had  caught  fire  and  burned  on 
the  hillside.  The  sun  was  really  too  hot  on  our 
backs.  We  had  to  take  our  coats  off.  As  we 
were  passing  a  field  where  a  very  old  man,  with 
a  very  old  horse,  was  ploughing,  he  called  out  to 
us.  We  couldn't  hear  what  he  said,  thought  he 
wanted  something,  and  told  the  boys  to  run  across 
the  field  to  see.  They  raced  off  as  fast  as  they 
could,  talked  to  him  for  a  few  moments,  then 
dashed  up  the  hill  across  the  ploughed  field.  We 
saw  them  poking  at  something  with  their  sticks; 
then  they  came  galloping  back  with  red  cheeks 
and  eyes  shining  with  excitement,  calling  out  to 
us:  " Mother,  Danny,  come  and  see;  there  is  a 
dead  Boche  up  there;  they  have  just  turned  him 
up  with  the  plough.  We  were  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment, declining  their  proposal  to  go  and  see; 
and  then  Charlotte  said:  "Ah,  think,  boys,  per- 
haps somewhere  in  Germany,  far  away,  a  mother 
and  her  two  boys  are  walking  along  the  road, 
just  like  us  to-day,  talking  of  the  father  whom 
they  may  never  see  again."  The  boys  were  not 
in  the  least   moved — rather  surprised.      "Why, 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  197 

mother,  it  is  only  a  Boche" — as  if  it  were  a  rat. 
I  suppose  all  the  ugly  sights  they  have  seen, 
bridges  and  houses  blown  up,  and  the  quantities 
of  miserable,  half-starved,  half-clothed  children, 
have  hardened  their  childish  hearts.  I  wonder  if 
all  this  will  have  an  effect  upon  the  mentality  of 
the  young  generation.  Will  they  grow  up  hard 
and  cruel? 

There  are  many  Germans  buried  in  the  fields 
around  us,  quite  close  to  the  surface.  Sometimes 
one  sees  a  rustic  cross  made  of  sticks,  sometimes 
a  stick  standing  straight  up,  just  to  mark  the 
spot.  There  will  be  thousands  of  those  lonely 
soldier  graves  all  over  France. 

We  found  the  wreck  of  the  aeroplane  on  the 
top  of  the  hill.  There  wasn't  much  left — some 
linen  and  bits  of  steel  which  the  boys  carried  away 
as  a  souvenir. 

Souvenir  makes  me  think  of  the  British  troops. 
They  carried  off  a  good  many  things,  but  I  sup- 
pose all  soldiers  do.  Their  reasoning  was  simple, 
logical:  "Nous  prenons  souvenir;  si  prenons  pas, 
Allemands  prennent ! "  The  Germans  were  about 
twenty -four  hours  behind  them. 

It  was  lovely  sitting  on  the  hillside;  the  sun 
through  the  trees  making  little  patterns  of  light 
on  the  white  roads,  and  the  beautiful  valley  of 
the  Ourcq  stretching  away  into  the  blue  distance ; 
it  should  have  been  a  peaceful,  happy  scene,  but 
the  country  is  quite  deserted;    no  passing,   no 


198  MY  WAR  DIARY 

workers  in  the  fields,  nor  children  playing  about 
while  their  mothers  worked.  A  cloud  of  sadness 
hovers  over  everything,  and  we  always  hear  the 
dull,  steady  growl  of  the  cannon,  which  means 
mourning  and  anguish  for  so  many  of  us. 

It  seems  centuries  since  I  galloped  over  those 
hills  with  W.,  listening  to  his  recollections  of  '70, 
and  the  first  time  he  saw  a  Pickelhaube  (German 
helmet)  appearing  in  the  twilight  at  the  window 
of  his  library  at  Bourneville — a  disagreeable  mo- 
ment. 

We  were  rather  tired  after  our  scramble  up  the 
hill,  and  didn't  have  a  very  long  evening.  The 
fumoir  is  perfectly  comfortable,  heats  easily,  even 
with  the  modest  wood-fires,  but  it  looks  bare  and 
strange;  no  sign  of  habitation,  nothing  but  the 
newspapers  and  our  work. 

We  always  have  socks  and  jerseys  on  hand. 

Ash  Wednesday,  February  17  th. 

We  have  had  a  cold,  raw  day,  which  we  didn't 
expect  after  the  beautiful  summer  yesterday. 
The  night,  too,  was  beautiful,  bright  starlight.  I 
love  a  starlight  night  in  the  country;  the  stars 
always  seem  so  much  nearer  than  in  town. 

It  didn't  rain,  so  we  turned  the  boys  loose  in 
the  garden,  and  made  a  depressing  and  exhaust- 
ing tour  of  the  up-stairs  rooms,  missing  something 
at  every  turn.  The  wardrobe  where  we  keep  our 
reserve  of  poor  clothes,  had  been  opened,   and 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         199 

everything  taken.  We  both  of  us  feel  so  strongly 
that  our  house  has  been  soiled,  can  never  be  the 
same  to  us  again.  I  hope  the  feeling  will  pass. 
We  have  been  so  fond  of  our  quiet  country  home 
> — have  had  so  many  happy  hours  there.  Perhaps 
when  the  war  is  over  and  Francis  comes  home,  it 
will  be  different. 

We  decided  to  move  the  best  furniture  and 
trunks,  boxes,  etc.,  into  two  of  the  rooms  and 
lock  them.  I  don't  think  we  shall  have  any 
more  Germans.  We  are  not  on  their  way  home; 
but  perhaps  British  and  French.  One  must  be 
prepared  for  any  surprises. 

The  Abbe  Detigne  came  to  breakfast.  It 
seemed  almost  the  old  times  to  see  his  little  cart 
coming  to  the  gate.  He  was,  as  usual,  most  in- 
teresting. He  was  amusing  over  a  "belle  dame 
de  la  Croix  Rouge,"  who  came  down  to  La  Fert6 
to  take  charge  of  an  ambulance  established  in  the 
Ecole  Maternelle.  She  looked  very  nice  in  her 
infirmiere  dress,  and  gave  a  great  many  orders, 
and  didn't  find  any  of  the  arrangements  satisfac- 
tory; but  she  wouldn't  touch  a  wounded  soldier, 
neither  wash  him  nor  dress  his  wounds,  nor  take 
off  his  rags — for  clothes  they  could  hardly  be 
called — when  the  poor  fellows  were  just  out  of 
the  trenches,  or  had  been  lying  for  days  on  straw 
in  a  shed,  waiting  to  be  taken  to  a  hospital. 
Whenever  there  was  a  badly  wounded  man  or  a 
fever  patient,  she  wanted  him  sent  to  the  Hdtel- 


200  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Dieu,  where  the  poor  sisters  had  more  than  they 
could  attend  to;  when  the  abbe  and  the  mayor 
remonstrated  the  lady's  husband  appeared  on  the 
scene,  saying:  "Ma  femme  n'est  pas  habituee  a 
retirer  les  chaussettes  des  pieds  sales  d'un  soldat, 
ni  de  leur  laver  les  pieds I"  Then  their  patience 
gave  out.  They  had  the  sick  and  wounded  men 
wrapped  up  in  blankets  and  carried  them  off  to 
the  H6tel-Dieu,  where  the  sisters  gave  up  their 
r£fectoire  and  lingerie — and  then  the  authorities 
closed  the  hospital. 

We  gave  him  some  warm  shirts  and  drawers, 
and  said  we  would  go  and  see  them  the  next  time 
he  came  down. 

The  Croix  Rouge  has  done,  and  is  doing  such 
splendid  work  that  one  is  sorry  such  disagreeable 
incidents  occur;  but  of  course  in  all  large  societies 
there  must  be  all  kinds,  and  alongside  of  some  of 
the  volunteer  nurses  who  have  given  their  time 
and  their  strength,  and  sometimes  their  lives, 
there  are  women  who  only  want  the  notoriety  and 
right  to  wear  the  nurse's  dress,  which  is  becoming. 
The  poor  abbe  was  quite  put  out. 

While  we  were  at  breakfast  they  brought  us 
the  news  that  Mr.  Profit,  a  young  farmer  of  the 
village,  was  wounded;  they  said,  "grievement 
blesse."  It  will  be  a  great  loss  if  he  is  killed,  as 
he  is  one  of  the  best  men  in  Mareuil,  has  had  a 
very  good  education,  and  has  travelled  a  little. 

I  was  quite  surprised  when  he  dined  with  us 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         201 

one  night  when  the  bishop  of  Beauvais  was  stay- 
ing with  us,  to  hear  how  easily  and  intelligently 
he  talked.  They  are  a  family  of  perfectly  re- 
spectable, well-to-do  farmers,  who  have  big  farms 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  I  have  often  heard 
it  said  that  the  Profits  could  walk  from  Mareuil 
to  Paris  without  going  off  of  their  own  ground. 

We  went  to  see  Mme.  Profit  after  the  abb6 
went.  She  was  very  agitated,  but  brave  and 
helpful,  was  going  off  at  once.  We  went  after- 
ward to  see  the  miller's  wife,  also  one  of  our  friends. 
They  had  had  Germans  in  their  house,  but  they 
hadn't  done  much  harm;  drank  up  all  the  wine 
they  could  find  (they  had  hidden  their  best),  and 
carried  off  blankets  and  coverlids. 

Our  cur6  came  to  dinner,  as  we  are  leaving  to- 
morrow morning  early,  and  we  spent  all  our 
evening  making  lists  and  prices  of  the  work  to 
be  done.  We  had  brought  down  several  pieces 
of  stuff  which  we  left  with  Mme.  Gaillard  to  be 
cut  out  and  given  to  the  women,  also  weighed 
the  wool  so  that  each  woman  might  have  the 
same  amount  for  her  stockings. 

We  leave  to-morrow  morning  at  9  o'clock, 
and  by  the  Est,  this  time  taking  the  military 
road,  which  will  be  very  interesting  as  it  was 
made  to  suit  the  convenience  of  the  army,  and 
passes  recklessly,  they  tell  us,  through  gardens, 
farmyards,  and  orchards. 


202  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Paris,  Thursday,  February  18th. 

We  got  back  this  morning  from  Mareuil,  taking 
the  military  line  as  far  as  Treport;  it  was  made 
apparently  with  an  absolute  disregard  of  people's 
property,  running  through  farmyards,  orchards, 
gardens,  sometimes  close  down  to  the  river,  some- 
times close  under  the  windows  of  a  small  manoir. 
Soldiers  still  working  on  it,  and  keeping  the 
rickety  little  wooden  bridges  in  order.  We  went 
naturally  very  slowly — a  light  train.  They  say 
all  military  roads  go  straight  from  one  point  to 
another,  and  this  one  is  certainly  no  exception 
to  the  rule. 

I  found  H.  rather  anxious  as  people  had  told 
her  we  could  not  get  back  for  several  days,  for 
there  was  a  great  movement  of  troops  and  cannon 
on  the  Chemin  de  Fer  de  l'Est.  We  couldn't  tele- 
graph her  (the  telegraph  only  works  for  the  mili- 
tary authorities),  and  our  letters  arrived  after  us. 

Saturday,  February  20th,  '15. 
There  is  news  this  morning.  Yesterday  the 
allied  fleets,  French  and  British,  appeared  sud- 
denly in  the  Dardanelles  and  began  shelling  the 
Turkish  forts.  It  was  a  great  surprise  to  the 
general  public.  The  move  was  so  quietly  made. 
I  am  afraid  they  have  a  difficult  task  before  them; 
still,  in  the  end,  Constantinople  must  fall,  and 
there  will  be  one  of  the  many  difficult  problems 
to  solve  when  the  war  is  over. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  203 

This  is  always  a  busy  day  at  the  ouvroir.  The 
women  bring  back  their  work  and  ask  for  more. 
We  had,  too,  a  good  many  soldiers. 

We  like  it  much  better  when  the  men  come  for 
their  paquets.  Then  we  are  sure  that  they  get 
them.  So  many  people  complain  that  the  pack- 
ages they  send  never  arrive  at  their  destination. 

It  is  amusing  to  see  Mrs.  M.,  who  is  a  tall, 
handsome  woman,  measuring  the  men  across  the 
chest,  to  see  if  the  shirt  and  jerseys  are  broad 
enough. 

I  went  for  a  few  minutes  to  the  American  rec- 
tory to  see  Mrs.  Watson.  I  found  her  in  her 
Belgian  room  at  the  ouvroir.  It  was  piled  high 
with  cases  and  packages  of  every  description. 
She  is  doing  an  immense  amount  of  good,  helping 
so  many  people. 

Tuesday,  February  23rd. 

The  days  are  all  alike,  but  somehow  or  other 
the  time  passes.  There  is  a  lull  in  the  fighting. 
Every  one  predicts  fierce  struggles  with  the  ad- 
vance of  spring  and  the  mild  weather.  Until  the 
Germans  get  out  of  France  I  can't  feel  quite  happy. 
I  don't  see  how  they  are  ever  to  get  them  out  of 
the  trenches  near  Soissons.  Report  says  the 
trenches  will  be  blown  up  by  the  British.  The 
French  can't,  as  there  are  many  of  their  women 
and  children  in  them. 

Some  one  read  aloud  at  the  ouvroir  to-day  some 


204  MY  WAR  DIARY 

letters  filled  with  German  atrocities.  I  suppose 
some  things  are  true,  but  they  can't  have  com- 
mitted some  of  the  horrors  laid  to  their  charge. 

I  dined  quietly  with  the  Segurs,  with  our  old 
friends  the  Savoyes.  No  one  dresses;  the  men 
wear  smoking  or  redingote,  with  black  ties,  the 
women  high  dresses.  Segur  had  seen  some  one 
at  the  club — a  diplomat — who  had  just  come  back 
from  Berlin.  He  said  the  city  was  absolutely 
normal.  Shops  and  theatres  open;  streets  well 
lighted;  plenty  of  people  walking,  almost  cheer- 
ful. He  had  a  very  good  dinner  at  one  of  the 
good  restaurants.  There  were  several  German 
officers  in  uniform  dining.  He  thought  they  were 
attached  to  the  War  Office  in  Berlin.  He  didn't 
see  any  black  bread,  nor  any  want  of  white.  Said 
the  soldiers  and  people  certainly  had  black  bread, 
but  that  didn't  mean  anything,  as  the  German 
peasant  always  eats  black  bread. 

Sunday,  March  7th. 
It  was  cold  and  rainy  this  afternoon,  a  day  to 
stay  at  home  by  the  fire.  We  dined  early,  7.30, 
so  that  Willy  could  come  down  and  dine  with 
his  mother.  Ever  since  his  father  said  good-bye 
to  him  at  Aulnay,  when  he  was  starting  for  the 
front,  and  told  him  he  must  be  a  big  boy  and 
take  care  of  his  mother,  he  has  felt  a  great  re- 
sponsibility. He  misses  his  father  awfully,  like 
all  of  us;    but  we  try  to  be  brave,  though  the 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         205 

sight  of  the  young  men  walking  about  with  legs 
and  arms  amputated  takes  all  my  courage  away. 
Yesterday  I  met  Mme.  de  G.,  an  aunt  of  Char- 
lotte's, in  the  rue  La  Beotie;  so  changed  I  almost 
passed  her.  Last  year  she  was  fresh,  animated, 
interested  in  everything.  She  has  grown  thin 
and  pale,  with  a  wistful  look  in  her  eyes  that 
rather  haunts  one.  Her  eldest  son,  an  officer, 
is  at  the  front ;  her  baby — just  twenty  years  old,  a 
simple  soldier,  is  a  prisoner  in  Germany.  He  has 
sent  her  three  or  four  post-cards  saying  he  is 
fairly  well  treated.  But  so  many  people  say  they 
don't  dare  tell  the  truth  on  open  post-cards  that 
she  is  not  quite  happy.  While  we  were  talking, 
a  soldier,  young — not  more  than  twenty-two  or 
twenty- three,  with  his  leg  amputated  just  above 
the  knee — the  empty  trouser  hanging  loose — look- 
ing thin  and  pale — came  along  on  his  crutches — 
a  woman  with  him.  Everybody  spoke  to  him: 
"Bon  jour,  mon  ami  !"  A  little  girl  detached  her- 
self from  a  group  of  children,  ran  across  the  street 
to  shake  hands  with  him,  and  gave  him  a  bunch 
of  violets,  saying:  "Bon  jour,  Monsieur."  He 
looked  so  pleased.  It  was  a  pretty  sight.  For  a 
few  moments  there  was  nothing  but  the  wounded 
soldier  in  the  street. 

Monday,  March  8th,  '15, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 

A  horrid  day,  snow  falling  at  intervals.     I  came 
up  early  to  dinner.     C.  had  a  nice  letter  from 


206  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Francis.  He  had  been  for  the  first  time  in  the 
trenches,  found  officers'  quarters  very  comforta- 
ble, seats,  tables,  fire,  books  and  papers.  The 
soldiers'  not  quite  so  good,  but  very  fairly  com- 
fortable. He  started  back  in  the  dark;  said  it 
was  rather  melancholy  passing  graves  of  some  of 
the  men  of  his  own  regiment.  He  met  some 
officers  in  autos,  who  told  him  to  be  very  careful 
crossing  the  bridge  over  the  canal,  as  the  Germans 
were  watching  it  very  closely,  and  sent  shells  at 
anything  they  saw  crossing.  He  waited  until 
one  shell  had  fallen,  then  dashed  over  as  hard  as 
he  could — a  shell  falling  just  behind  him.  It  was 
a  serious  performance,  but  he  seems  to  have  grown 
accustomed  to  shells. 

He  says  the  Colonel  and  all  the  officers  beg  for 
his  books.  We  send  him  every  week  some  illus- 
trated papers  for  his  men.  Hanotaux's  pictorial 
history  of  the  war  (Histoire  de  la  Guerre),  the 
Revue  de  Paris,  which  has  very  good  war  and 
foreign  articles,  and  the  Times.  Walter  W.,  who 
is  quartered  about  ten  miles  further  back,  asks  him 
for  books — Walter  being  his  cousin,  Walter  Wad- 
dington,  who  is  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  a  regiment 
of  cuirassiers. 

Sunday,  March  21st. 
We  had  an  agitated  night — our  first  experience 
of  Zeppelins.     For   some   days   the  police  have 
been  very  strict  about  lights,  not  only  in  the 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  207 

streets,  but  in  the  houses.  If  the  slightest  gleam 
escapes  through  barred  shutters  and  closely  drawn 
curtains,  they  come  up  at  once  and  protest  vigor- 
ously. 

I  was  sleeping  quietly,  didn't  hear  the  avertisse- 
ment  (pompiers,  rattling  through  the  street,  not 
ours  but  the  rue  Francois  Ier  at  the  corner,  sound- 
ing the  alarm,  "garde  a  vous, "  which  we  all  know 
too  well  now),  and  was  astonished  when  the  maids 
appeared  in  my  room  much  excited.  The  little 
one  who  sleeps  au  sixieme,  had  been  waked  up 
by  the  appel  and  the  noise  in  the  street — our 
concierge  ordering  all  lights  out.  She  saw  the 
Zeppelins  quite  distinctly  from  her  window,  pass- 
ing over  the  barriere  de  TEtoile,  and  heard  the 
cannon  and  mitrailleuses  from  the  Eiffel  Tower. 
However,  by  the  time  she  got  down-stairs  the 
danger  was  over.  The  street  and  house  were 
quiet,  and  she  returned  to  the  sixth  floor.  I  put 
on  a  warm  cloak  and  stood  on  the  balcony  a  little 
while,  but  saw  nothing;  the  street  was  perfectly 
quiet  and  dark,  except  when  the  search-light  threw 
a  long  yellow  ray. 

About  an  hour  later  there  was  another  alarm, 
but  it  was  not  serious,  though  the  pompiers  with 
their  "garde  a  vous"  rattled  under  our  windows 
this  time. 

It  was  too  much  for  the  poor  little  maid;  she 
rushed  down- stairs  quite  unnerved  and  frightened, 
and  slept  in  the  lingerie  all  night.     Almost  all  the 


208  MY  WAR  DIARY 

locataires  of  the  5leme  spent  the  night  in  the  con- 
cierge's- lodge. 

Before  9  o'clock  this  morning  Charlotte  arrived, 
quite  white  and  trembling.  They  had  been  waked 
out  of  a  sound  sleep  by  the  noise :  First  the  bombs 
— one  fell  in  the  avenue  MalakofT,  near  the  rue  de 
la  Pompe — and  then  the  firing  from  the  Tour 
Eiffel,  and  the  few  French  aeroplanes  that  were 
flying.  The  children  and  maids  were  terrified, 
so  they  all  went  down  to  the  concierge's  lodge, 
getting  quickly  into  whatever  clothes  they  could 
find,  groping  about  in  the  dark,  and  spent  the 
rest  of  the  night  there.  Various  other  locataires 
did  the  same,  the  concierge  making  occasional  ex- 
cursions into  the  street,  which  was  black  as  ink, 
to  see  if  anything  more  was  happening. 

Evidently  there  was  much  more  disturbance  in 
their  part  of  the  town.  They  are  so  close  to  the 
Tour  Eiffel.  Charlotte  felt  rather  better  when 
she  had  had  a  glass  of  Marsala,  and  talked  it  all 
over  with  us;  and  she  went  back  to  the  house  to 
bring  the  boys  here  to  breakfast.  They  looked  a 
little  pale  when  they  arrived,  but  were  much  ex- 
cited, having  been  waked  out  of  their  sound  sleep 
by  the  noise  and  the  autos,  and  then  being  hur- 
ried into  their  clothes  and  passing  the  night  sit- 
ting up  in  the  lodge.  Poor  little  things,  they  have 
had  various  experiences  since  their  hurried  flight 
from  Mareuil  at  the  beginning  of  the  war.  They 
will  never  forget  "war-times."     All  they  do  and 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         209 

all  they  don't  do  is  subservient  to  the  one  absorb- 
ing idea:  "War." 

We  had  quite  a  number  of  visits  at  tea-time,  all 
of  course  full  of  the  alarm.  The  T.'s,  sleeping 
peacefully  in  their  rooms  on  the  court  of  their 
hotel,  heard  nothing,  and  read  the  news  in  the 
papers  this  morning.  In  almost  all  the  hotels 
people  were  waked  up  and  told  to  come  down- 
stairs. They  say  the  assemblage  at  the  Ritz 
was  wonderful,  though  most  of  the  women  had 
made  themselves  presentable  with  long  cloaks 
and  fichus  tied  over  their  heads,  but  some  had 
been  too  frightened;  had  only  one  idea,  to  get 
down-stairs,  and  nature  stood  revealed  most  un- 
becomingly. 

March  22nd,  '15, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 

We  had  a  second  Zeppelin  alarm  last  night 
about  9  o'clock.  We  had  just  finished  dinner,  all 
lights  were  ordered  out,  and  the  pompiers  dashed 
through  the  street  sounding  their  "garde  a  vous." 
The  shrill,  strident  notes  set  every  nerve  on  edge. 
There  wasn't  a  sound  to  be  heard;  no  cannon  nor 
noise  of  falling  bombs.  We  sat  by  the  window, 
making  occasional  excursions  to  the  balcony,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  No  one  in  the 
street;  a  few  men  standing  at  the  doors  of  the 
houses;  one  just  saw  them  like  shadows  when  the 
search-lights  played  around. 


210  MY  WAR  DIARY 

A  little  before  12  the  pompiers  passed  again 
more  slowly,  playing  "danger  over,"  and  calling 
out:  "Danger  over;  you  can  light."  They  were 
cheered  all  along  the  streets.  Willy  called  from 
the  window:  "Sont-ils  partis,  les  sales  Boches?" 
1 '  Oui,  mon  petit,  oui.     Vous  pouvez  vous  coucher . ' ' 

There  was  another  alarm  after  we  had  got  to 
bed,  about  12  o'clock,  but  it  didn't  amount  to 
anything.     Still  these  are  agitated  nights. 

Wednesday,  March  24th. 
I  was  at  the  ouvroir  all  the  afternoon.  Mme. 
M.  had  seen  the  Zeppelin  quite  distinctly.  It 
passed  over  the  house ;  she  said  it  looked  extraor- 
dinary, all  lighted,  brilliant  shells  bursting  around 
it  in  all  directions  from  the  mitrailleuses  and 
French  aeroplanes. 

Tuesday,  March  30th. 

The  Duchesse  de  Bassano  and  Lady  Lee  came 
in  late  this  afternoon.  They  were  just  back  from 
Versailles,  where  they  had  been  to  the  British 
Red  Cross  Hospital  at  the  H6tel  du  Trianon. 
They  say  it  is  wonderfully  installed,  so  clean  and 
spacious,  and  under  strict  military  discipline. 
The  Duchesse  took  flowers  and  tobacco  and  picture 
papers  to  the  soldiers,  and  said  they  were  very 
pleased — just  like  children — particularly  with  the 
flowers. 

Lady  Lee  occupies  herself  very  much  with  the 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         211 

hospitals,  not  nursing,  but  seeing  that  they  have 
all  they  want,  and  writing  letters  for  the  sol- 
diers. 

Versailles  is  quite  changed  with  so  many  British 
about — officers  in  khaki,  sometimes  with  their 
wives  and  children;  British  Red  Cross  nurses  and 
automobiles.  The  two  little  tea-shops  are  doing 
a  thriving  business.  We  went  into  one  the  other 
day  and  might  have  thought  ourselves  in  London : 
British  at  every  table,  all  having  tea  and  muffins. 
Our  boys  are  always  taken  for  English,  as  they 
are  fair  and  speak  English  with  their  English 
nurse — which  makes  them  most  indignant.  "We 
are  French  boys;  father  is  a  French  soldier!" 

Good  Friday,  April  2nd,  '15. 
The  churches  were  crowded  yesterday  and 
to-day;  a  great  many  women  in  mourning,  a 
great  many  wounded  soldiers.  At  one  of  the 
churches,  in  a  little  chapel  where  the  Christ  was 
exposed  with  an  abundance  of  flowers  and  can- 
dles, a  young  soldier,  not  more  than  twenty-two 
years  old,  with  one  leg  off,  looking  very  white  and 
weak,  came  in,  but  couldn't  get  a  seat.  He  stood 
for  a  few  minutes  leaning  on  his  crutches.  A 
child  got  up,  ran  over  to  him,  saying:  "  Viens,  mon 
ami,  mets-toi  la  a  c6te  de  Maman."  He  de- 
murred, but  the  lady  made  a  sign  to  him  to  come. 
He  took  the  seat,  and  the  little  girl  knelt  along- 
side of  him  on  the  stone  pavement. 


212  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Easter  Sunday,  April  4th. 

I  went  to  the  American  church.  C.  and  the 
boys  came  to  breakfast.  We  had  coloured  eggs 
for  them,  and  they  had  already  had  a  fine  collec- 
tion at  their  own  house — useful  gifts  from  Bonne 
Maman  and  Danny:  carnets,  pencils,  gloves, 
etc.,  and  a  big  chocolate  bell  from  Lady  Plunkett. 
She  is  here  with  Nellie,  staying  with  Norah  G., 
and  nursing  at  the  British  Red  Cross  Hospital  at 
the  H6tel  Astoria.  I  fancy  she  is  an  excellent 
nurse.  She  has  had  capital  training  at  Lausanne, 
at  one  of  the  great  hospitals  there;  and  besides, 
has  a  real  vocation,  is  thoroughly  interested  in  all 
medical  work. 

Friday,  April  9th. 

The  week  has  been  very  quiet,  everybody  fol- 
lowing the  action  of  the  fleets  in  the  Dardanelles. 
Things  have  not  gone  as  quickly  and  easily  as 
one  expected.  Before  Easter,  Mr.  de  P.  told  us 
they  were  betting  at  the  clubs  that  Constantinople 
would  fall  for  Easter.  He  wasn't  quite  so  san- 
guine, thought  it  might  perhaps  fall  by  the 
Sunday  after,  but  thinks  he  will  lose  his  bet. 

It  is  astonishing  how  the  time  slips  away  when 
one  does  the  same  thing  every  day.  The  com- 
muniques don't  tell  us  much  about  the  war,  nor 
private  letters  either.  Francis  writes  fairly  often, 
but  except  when  he  has  a  night  in  the  trenches  or 
a  reconnaissance  with  the  General,  or  some  of 
his  officer  friends,  there  is  not  much  to  tell. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         213 

Walter  Waddington  is  about  ten  kilometres 
from  Francis'  cantonnement.  He  and  his  offi- 
cers are  very  comfortably  lodged  in  a  small 
chateau,  and  Francis  goes  over  to  lunch  and  dine 
with  him  sometimes.  The  other  day  he  took 
over  one  of  the  sergeants  of  his  regiment — a  singer 
from  the  Opera-Comique,  who  has  a  charming 
voice,  and  sings  very  well.  There  was  quite  a 
good  piano  at  the  chateau,  and  they  made  music 
all  the  evening,  Francis  accompanying  his  friend. 
Then  Francis  played  the  national  airs  and  our 
famous  march  of  "Sambre  et  Meuse,"  winding  up 
with  "It's  a  long,  long  way  to  Tipperary,"  all  the 
officers  joining  in  the  chorus. 

When  Francis  and  his  friend  were  starting  back 
the  cannon  was  going  again,  hard,  and  shells  were 
whistling  through  the  air.  The  men  told  Francis 
to  be  very  careful  at  a  certain  bridge,  which  the 
enemy  always  aims  at.  They  don't  seem  to 
mind  the  shells  more  than  tennis-balls,  yet  men 
are  killed  around  them  every  day. 

I  am  going  out  to  Mrs.  Depew's  to-morrow. 

April  10th,  '15, 
Chateau  d'Annel. 

We  had  a  lovely  afternoon  yesterday;  leaving 
the  Hdtel  Crillon  at  4  and  getting  here  about 
6.30.  The  road,  as  usual,  was  deserted.  We 
met  no  private  conveyances  of  any  kind,  merely 
military  autos,  which  go  an  awful  pace,  particu- 


214 


MY  WAR  DIARY 


larly  the  British  ones — and  occasional  convoys  of 
munition-wagons  or  food — the  fields  empty,  no 
ploughing  nor  work  of  any  kind  going  on,  women 
and  children  standing  at  the  doors  of  their  cot- 
tages. 

We  passed  through  Senlis,  which  is  tragic.  In 
the  one  long  street,  all  the  houses  in  ruins — roofs 
off,  windows  out,  walls  fallen,  heaps  of  stones  and 
charred  beams  everywhere.  It  quite  reminded 
me  of  Pompeii ;  and  over  all  this  black  ruin,  the 
beautiful  blue  summer  sky,  and  the  great  stillness 
of  the  country.  We  were  stopped  several  times, 
but  only  for  a  moment,  as  the  car  with  its  English 
chauffeur  dressed  in  khaki,  is  well  known  on  the 
road.  Then  we  got  to  the  bridge  of  Compiegne, 
where  we  were  stopped  again.  There  were  a 
great  many  people  much  excited,  pointing  to  the 
sky,  where  I  saw  nothing,  but  the  others  did.  It 
was  a  French  aeroplane  being  fired  upon  by  Ger- 
man shells.  Mrs.  D.  saw  the  aeroplane  quite  dis- 
tinctly, as  well  as  the  little  puffs  of  smoke  looking 
like  white  clouds,  made  by  the  German  shells. 
The  officer  at  the  bridge  told  us  we  could  go  on; 
there  was  no  danger,  as  the  aeroplane  was  some 
distance  ahead,  and  we  were  behind  the  firing- 
line. 

It  is  curious  how  in  war-times  everything  seems 

itural,  even  to  taking  an  afternoon's  turn  in  the 
country  with  shells  flying  over  your  head. 

In  one  of  the  small  villages  we  passed  through, 


JANUARY  TO  JUiNE,  1915         215 

close  to  Annel,  a  regiment  of  Spahis  was  quartered. 
They  looked  most  picturesque  with  their  bright 
red  cloaks  and  white  turbans;  were  tall,  dark, 
handsome  men.  I  suppose  they  are  not  allowed 
to  fight  in  that  costume;  they  would  make  a  fine 
target  for  the  enemy,  even  for  the  old  gentlemen 
of  the  Landsturm,  who  don't  seem  very  efficient 
with  a  rifle. 

Our  evening  was  pleasant.  The  hospital  stall 
— about  eight  men,  doctors,  gentlemen  chauffeu-s, 
etc.,  dined  with  us.  All  were  in  khaki.  We  hca  d 
the  cannon  quite  distinctly  until  9.30,  and  went 
out  on  the  terrace  to  see  if  we  could  distin;; 
any  rockets,  but  all  was  quite  dark. 

As  soon  as  the  lights  are  lit  in  the  chateau, 
heavy  black  curtains  are  lowered  over  all  the  win- 
dows,  which  give  a  ghastly  impression   in   the 
house,  as  not  a  gleam  of  light  must  be  visible 
They  are  too  near  the  front,  only  ten  miles  f 
the  German  trenches. 

It  all  seems  very  comfortably  arranged. 
family  lives  in  one  wing,   quite  apart  from  th 
hospital.     Mrs.    Depew   will   take   me   over   the 
wards  to-morrow. 

It  is  lovely  this  morning;  I  shall  go  for  a  stroll 
in  the  park,  and  at  1 1  o'clock  there  is  mass  in  the 
small  convalescent  ward. 

11  o'clock. 

We  have  had  a  most  interesting  day.  I  had  a 
nice  walk  with  Mr.  D.,  who  showed  me  the  grave- 


216  MY  WAR  DIARY 

yard  in  the  park,  at  some  little  distance  from  the 
chateau,  where  the  soldiers  who  have  died  in  the 
hospital  are  buried,  until  the  end  of  the  war,  when 
their  families  can  come  and  claim  their  bodies. 
It  is  very  well  arranged.  There  are  about  thirty 
graves,  a  simple  wooden  cross  at  the  head  of  each, 
flowers  on  the  graves,  and  a  little  hedge  of  box 
around  the  enclosure. 

We  went  in  at  1 1  to  the  mass.  It  was  held  in 
the  old  music-room,  now  turned  into  a  conva- 
lescent ward.  There  were  eight  beds;  most  of  the 
men  propped  up  on  pillows,  and  several  nurses 
and  doctors  in  their  white  uniform.  Mrs.  D.,  in 
her  nurse's  dress,  played  the  organ.  Francis  the 
violoncello.  It  was  an  impressive  scene;  and  at 
the  end  the  aumdnier,  with  his  vetement  over  his 
uniform,  finished  with  the  prayer  that  we  hear  in 
all  the  churches  now:  "Prions  pour  nos  soldats 
au  front,  pour  nos  blesses  ici,  pour  tous  nos  morts 
dans  toute  la  France;  et  que  Dieu  donne  aux 
meres  et  aux  femmes  le  courage  d 'accepter  avec 
resignation  les  sacrifices  que  le  pays  leur  demande." 
And  all  to  the  sound  of  the  cannon,  which  had 
been  growling  again  since  10  o'clock. 

After  lunch  I  went  into  the  big  ward  with  Mrs. 
Depew.  The  men  looked  most  comfortable  and 
well  cared  for.  The  room  is  large  and  bright  (the 
old  ballroom),  on  the  ground  floor,  doors  and 
windows  opening  on  the  fine  old  courtyard,  and  a 
flood  of  sunlight  streaming  in. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         217 

Then  we  went  for  a  turn  in  the  motor  to  a  village 
some  little  distance  off,  nearer  the  front.  We  went 
up  to  the  top  story  of  the  doctor's  house,  from 
where  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the  plain  and  our 
trenches  and  barbed- wire  entanglements.  We  saw 
very  far  beyond  the  line  of  our  trenches,  a  long 
stretch  of  plain;  then  a  wood,  and  behind  that, 
the  German  trenches. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  chateau,  all  the  pa- 
tients were  out  in  the  courtyard,  in  the  sun,  their 
beds  wheeled  out.  Various  French  officers  came 
in  to  tea,  and  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  see  the 
pantalon  rouge  and  light-blue  tunic  of  the  chas- 
seurs, after  all  the  khaki,  which  is,  of  course,  more 
serviceable  in  campaign  than  the  bright  colors, 
but  it  doesn't  look  military.  Everybody  wears 
it:  chauffeurs,  orderlies  at  hospitals,  etc. 

They  are  giving  all  our  men  other  uniforms,  a 
sort  of  blue-grey,  for  the  front,  but  the  men  hate 
it;  they  love  their  red  trousers. 

I  saw  for  the  first  time  that  afternoon,  painted 
horses.  All  the  horses  of  the  Chasseurs  d'Afrique 
are  small  grey  horses,  which,  of  course,  made  them 
a  fine  mark  for  the  enemy.  One  orderly,  who  came 
with  his  officer,  was  riding  a  pink  horse,  which, 
they  said,  with  time  and  exposure  in  all  weathers 
would  turn  a  bai  rouge.  Another  had  a  bright 
yellow  one,  which  would  become  alezan  (chestnut) 
by  the  same  process.  They  looked  funny  in  the 
present  stage,  with  the  men's  red  trousers. 


218  MY  WAR  DIARY 

We  had  a  pleasant  dinner;  made  a  little  music 
in  the  evening,  singing  "Tipperary,"  which  is  a 
good  marching  tune,  and  another  regular  silly, 
catchy  English  song:  "Susie's  sewing  socks  for 
soldiers."     I  am  leaving  to-morrow  morning. 

Paris,  Wednesday,  April  14th. 
The  days  pass  quietly.  We  don't  hear  much 
news.  All  interest  now  is  centred  in  the  Darda- 
nelles. Every  one  seems  to  think  that  Russia  will 
be  most  exacting  when  settling-day  comes,  and 
she  will,  of  course,  want  Constantinople;  but  I 
don't  think  Great  Britain  would  mind  that  now 
with  the  Suez  Canal  and  the  firm  footing  she  has 
in  Egypt. 

Saturday,  April  24th. 
We  had  a  procession  of  soldiers  at  the  ouvroir 
to-day,  coming  out  of  the  hospital  with  four  or 
five  days'  leave  before  joining  their  regiments. 
Most  of  them  were  men  from  the  pays  occupes, 
with  no  friends  in  Paris  and  no  money — the  fr. 
1.25  they  got  from  the  Government  being  quite 
insufficient  to  give  them  food  and  lodging.  There 
must  be  houses  or  shelter  of  some  kind  for  them, 
but  we  don't  know  where.  One  poor  fellow  had 
had  no  word  from  wife  or  children  since  September. 
He  was  a  small  farmer  from  near  Laon;  had  had 
no  time  for  preparations  of  any  kind.  He  was 
on  the  first  roll-call.     The  order  for  mobilisation 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         219 

came  on  Saturday  afternoon,  August  1st,  at  4 
o'clock.  He  was  at  the  market  in  a  little  town 
not  far  from  his  farm ;  had  just  time  to  get  back, 
kiss  his  wife  and  children,  and  take  the  first  train 
at  9  o'clock  that  evening.  Had  heard  nothing  of 
any  of  his  belongings.  There  are  hundreds  in  the 
same  plight,  yet  they  don't  complain. 

Tuesday,  April  27  th. 
Antoinette,  Charlotte,  and  A.  H.  lunched  with 
us  to-day.  Antoinette  was  interesting,  telling  all 
the  work  she  had  done  at  Dinar  d.  She  is  quite 
miserable  about  her  German  companion,  Fntulein 
Pauline,  whom  we  all  know,  and  who  had  been 
with  her  for  years  (twenty,  I  think).  The  poor 
thing  had  never  been  back  to  Germany,  had  no 
relations  there — a  sister  married  here  to  a  French- 
man, and  two  nephews  in  the  French  army.  An- 
toinette kept  her  as  long  as  she  could,  but  it 
wasn't  possible  to  go  on  any  longer.  The  people 
in  the  village — even  the  servants  in  the  place, 
who  had  known  her  for  years — she  had  nursed 
them  when  they  were  ill,  and  taken  care  of  their 
children — got  excited.  After  all,  she  was  a  Ger- 
man, probably  a  spy.  At  last  the  mayor  and  cure 
told  Antoinette  she  must  go;  they  couldn't  protect 
her  if  some  sudden  fury  seized  the  people — a 
piece  of  bad  news,  a  reverse  of  the  French;  some 
new  German  atrocity  might  happen  at  any  mo- 
ment,  and  they  couldn't  hold  the  people.     So 


220  MY  WAR  DIARY 

most  tearfully  and  reluctantly  the  poor  woman 
started  for  Germany. 

We  talked  a  little  of  old  days  in  Rome,  so  long 
ago.     Will  Italy  move  ?     I  doubt  it. 

Friday,  April  30th. 

We  had  a  nice  letter  from  Francis  this  morning. 
He  had  made  an  interesting  expedition  with  his 
General  to  the  trenches  to  choose  where  a  new 
line  was  to  be  made.  They  went  in  motors  to  the 
entrance  of  a  long  tunnel  leading  into  the  trench, 
stayed  there  a  little,  talking  to  the  soldiers,  who, 
he  said,  looked  most  comfortable — had  made 
themselves  chairs  and  tables  out  of  old  boxes  and 
planks — had  lamps.  Then  their  party — about 
eight  or  ten  men,  left  their  shelter  and  came  out 
on  the  plain.  They  were  told  to  throw  away  their 
cigars,  not  stay  too  close  together,  also  to  talk 
as  little  and  as  low  as  possible. 

He  said  it  was  a  curious  situation;  the  night 
quite  dark,  very  still,  except  for  the  shells  which 
came  screaming  through  the  air,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  great  roar  from  the  big  guns.  They 
walked  about  for  an  hour,  choosing  the  ground  for 
the  new  line  of  trenches  and  dodging  the  shells 
which  generally  flew  over  their  heads  and  fell  at 
some  little  distance  off.  They  heard  the  Germans 
distinctly,  talking  in  their  trenches;  spoke  very 
little  and  very  low  themselves. 

He  fretted  so  at  O.  all  summer,  seeing  nothing 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         221 

of  the  fighting  and  never  hearing  the  cannon. 
He  hears  it  enough  now. 

Tuesday,  May  4th,  '15. 

We  had  a  little  concert  to-day,  at  the  Swedish 
church  for  the  benefit  of  the  hospital  and  ouvroir 
which  Comtesse  G.,  wife  of  the  Swedish  Minister  to 
France,  organised  as  soon  as  she  got  back  from 
Bordeaux.  The  church  was  very  prettily  deco- 
rated with  plants  and  flowers,  and  very  full.  All 
the  Swedish  colony  of  course,  which  is  quite  large. 
Mme.  Delcass6,  wife  of  the  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  Mme.  M.,  wife  of  the  Minister  of  War, 
and  a  good  many  of  Comtesse  G.'s  personal  friends. 
All  the  soldiers  who  were  well  enough  were  seated 
on  benches  close  to  the  chancel.  Some  of  them 
looked  very  young,  mere  boys.  The  music  was 
very  good.  Two  Swedish  singers  with  that  high, 
clear  northern  voice — so  unlike  the  rich,  full  Span- 
ish and  Italian  voices — sang  very  well. 

After  the  concert  was  over  we  went  into  the 
hospital,  which  is  very  well  arranged,  in  a  large 
high  room  on  the  ground  floor,  very  light  and 
airy.  The  beds  were  partitioned  off  with  screens, 
making  nice  little  rooms.  The  men  looked  very 
smiling  and  comfortable;  they  were  all  convales- 
cents, no  grands  blesses.  All  the  ladies  had 
brought  picture  papers,  tobacco,  and  chocolate. 


222  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Wednesday,  May  5th. 

I  lunched  to-day  with  a  country  neighbour,  Con- 
seiller  General  of  the  Oise.  He  has  a  charming 
chateau,  just  touching  the  Villers-Cotterets  for- 
est. It  has  been  occupied  ever  since  the  month 
of  September,  19 14;  first  Germans,  now  French; 
and  the  French  I  think  have  done  and  are  doing 
more  harm  than  the  Germans ! — horses  and  heavy 
camions  all  over  his  park;  walls  knocked  down, 
the  men  finding  the  big  gates  too  narrow  to  allow 
six  or  eight  horses  to  pass  abreast — and  the  inside 
in  an  awful  condition.  He  was  most  unfortunate 
in  the  regiments  that  fell  to  his  share. 

In  some  of  the  chateaux  the  French  soldiers 
mended  the  furniture  and  took  care  of  the  gardens. 

Among  other  people  we  had  at  breakfast  Mr. 
P.,  Chef  de  Cabinet  of  the  Minister  of  War,  at 
this  moment  I  should  think  the  most  overworked 
man  in  France.  I  was  quite  ashamed  to  ask  him 
for  anything,  but  I  did.  Francis  wants  to  go  as 
interpreter  on  the  staff  of  one  of  the  British  gen- 
erals. He  says  he  feels  he  could  be  very  useful, 
as  he  knows  English,  of  course,  as  well  as  French, 
and  is  accustomed  to  English  ways  and  life.  Some 
of  the  interpreters  on  both  sides  have  been  utter 
failures.  They  say  the  Englishman  who  knows 
a  little  French  gets  on  better  than  the  Frenchman 
who  knows  a  little  English.  The  Frenchman  is 
accustomed  to  hearing  his  native  tongue  badly 
spoken,  and  understands  more  quickly;  the  Eng- 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         223 

lishman  on  the  contrary  is  slow  to  understand; 
must  have  very  precise  orders. 

The  breakfast  was  quite  a  war  breakfast, 
served  by  a  parlour-maid  and  a  soldier  in  uniform, 
with  his  arm  in  a  sling.  He  was  our  host's  valet 
de  chambre,  had  been  wounded,  and  was  finishing 
his  period  of  convalescence  in  his  master's  ser- 
vice. 

The  general  talk  at  table  was  interesting;  very 
little  criticism  on  what  either  Government  or 
Army  was  doing,  and  an  absolute  certainty  of 
ultimate  victory — "qui  nous  coutera  cher;  toute 
notre  jeunesse  y  restera!"  That  is  the  tragic 
side  of  this  awful  war. 

When  we  see  a  regiment  starting  for  the  front, 
all  the  young  faces  so  flushed  and  smiling  and 
eager  for  the  fray,  we  think  of  the  hundreds  who 
will  never  come  back,  and  of  whom  their  families 
will  never  know  anything — merely  "missing,"  in 
the  long  lists  of  casualties. 

Thursday,  May  6th. 
Mrs.  W.  came  to  breakfast,  and  we  went  after- 
ward to  the  Japanese  hospital,  installed  at  the 
H6tel  Astoria.  It  looked  perfectly  well  ordered 
and  beautifully  clean.  We  asked  for  the  Direc- 
trice,  Mme.  de  L.,  whom  we  Iznow,  and  she  took 
us  over  the  hospital.  The  pharmacie  was  quite 
wonderful — so  neat  and  orderly;  all  the  bottles 
and  packages  wrapped  up  in  soft  white  paper,  and 


224 


MY  WAR  DIARY 


the  curious  Japanese  signs  or  letters  that  one 
sees  on  all  their  packages  of  tea.  Mme.  L.  in- 
troduced the  head  of  the  pharmacie  to  us.  He 
knew  very  little  French,  but  English  well;  would 
be  so  pleased  if  we  would  talk  to  him.  Accord- 
ingly we  had  one  of  those  halting,  one-sided,  im- 
possible conversations  one  has  sometimes  with 
people  who  know  a  little  (very  little  in  this  case) 
of  a  language.  I  understood  very  little  of  what 
he  said  to  me,  and,  judging  from  his  answers,  he 
absolutely  nothing  of  what  I  said  to  him. 

We  saw  several  of  the  nurses  all  in  white,  with 
a  curious  high  square  cap.  They  are  a  funny 
collection  of  little  yellow  women,  very  polite  and 
smiling  and  curtseying.  I  can't  imagine  that  our 
soldiers  like  to  be  nursed  by  such  ugly  little  yellow 
creatures,  even  though  they  dress  the  wounds 
most  skilfully.  They  say  their  touch  is  very  light, 
and  they  work  much  more  quickly  than  our 
nurses.  All  the  same  I  should  think  the  men 
would  prefer  a  nice  white  payse,  even  if  she  was 
a  little  rough. 

I  didn't  go  into  the  operating-rooms,  but  Mrs. 
M.  did.  She  said  they  were  splendid,  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  large  and  airy,  with  every  mod- 
ern scientific  invention.  There  were  several  ladies, 
nurses,  in  the  wards  and  corridors — French  and 
Americans.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  they  do, 
as  the  Japanese  nurses  do  all  the  dressings — don't 
allow  any  foreigners  to  touch  the  patients. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         225 

Saturday,  May  8th. 
There  is  awful  news  this  morning:  the  S.S. 
Lusitania  torpedoed  and  sunk  by  the  Germans 
off  the  Irish  coast.  I  didn't  think  even  they 
would  have  dared  to  do  such  an  awful  thing. 
The  first  account  says  only  six  hundred  people 
saved ;  the  boat  went  down  in  twelve  minutes.  I 
should  think  this  would  rouse  England  and  Amer- 
ica. Still,  the  Americans  were  warned;  they  came 
at  their  own  risk;  a  certain  number  of  passages 
were  cancelled. 

Friday,  May  14,  '15. 
Nobody  talks  of  anything  but  the  Lusitania, 
and  wonders  what  America  will  do.  There  was 
an  animated  discussion  at  the  ouvroir  this  after- 
noon between  Col.  B. — a  wounded  French  officer 
still  on  his  crutches — and  Mr.  H.  W.,  a  clever 
Englishman  with  French  relations,  married  to  a 
Frenchwoman.  I  think  in  his  heart,  though  he 
wouldn't  own  it,  the  Englishman  thought  the 
Frenchman  was  right:  "that  Britain  should  have 
protected  her  ship,  not  braved  the  Germans." 
Of  course  she  never  thought,  nor  did  any  one  else, 
that  Germany,  even  Germany,  would  do  such  a 
cowardly  act.  However,  she  has  set  the  whole 
civilised  world  against  her  now.  Many  of  the 
Americans  here,  particularly  the  women,  hope 
that  America  will  fight.     I  hope  she  won't. 


226  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Sunday,  May  16th. 

I  went  to  the  English  church.  The  rector 
didn't  officiate,  and  the  clergyman  who  took  his 
place  asked  the  prayers  of  the  congregation  for 
the  rector  and  his  family.  Their  eldest  son,  a 
soldier,  is  reported  "missing"  since  Tuesday.  I 
went  to  the  rectory  directly  after  the  service, 
and  the  servant  told  me  it  was  true — a  boy  only 
eighteen,  as  she  said.  "He  was  a  child  last  year, 
Madame,  when  he  came  home  for  his  holidays 
and  asked  me  for  cakes."  I  remember  all  the 
boys  perfectly;  didn't  think  any  were  old  enough 
to  be  soldiers. 

We  had  a  good  many  people  at  tea-time, 
among  others,  Professor  Hall  of  Harvard  with  his 
wife  and  daughter — clever,  sympathetic  people, 
all  much  interested  in  France  and  the  terrible 
struggle  she  is  going  through.  He  sent  me  a  gen- 
erous contribution  to  my  ouvroir.  I  so  rarely 
see  American  men  of  that  type  that  it  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  hear  an  impartial  opinion  from 
the  outside  world. 

Saturday,  May  22nd,  '15. 
I  dined  this  evening  with  the  Segurs.  Quite 
like  old  times,  with  all  the  nieces  and  nephews, 
M.'s  and  H.'s.  Young  Merode  is  at  the  Minis- 
tere  de  la  Guerre  (was  in  uniform,  the  new  colour, 
"bleu  horizon,"  which  they  say  is  very  good, 
blends  perfectly  with  sky  and  trees).     He  knows 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         227 

German  well,  translates  the  letters  found  on  pris- 
oners or  dead.  M.  says  they  are  not  very  inter- 
esting, the  wives  in  Germany  rinding  the  war  very 
long,  the  cost  of  living  very  high;  not  much  en- 
thusiasm. 

Sunday,  May  23  rd. 
We  had  a  few  people  at  tea-time;  Bessie  much 
excited  over  Italy's  moving.  She  will  have  three 
grandsons  and  two  nephews  in  the  war :  five  Rus- 
polis !  The  Duchesse  de  Bassano,  Stuers  (Dutch 
Minister),  and  the  Gyldenstopes  dined.  We  all 
talked  war,  of  course.  They  were  hard  on  Bulow 
and  his  fiasco  in  Rome — but  it  really  was  an  un- 
grateful mission.  He  was  beaten  even  before  he 
began  to  negotiate.  There  was  a  splendid  patri- 
otic demonstration  in  the  Roman  Chamber  yes- 
terday. 

Monday,  24th  May. 

Italy  has  declared  war  upon  Austria  only  (not 
on  Germany).  People  are  afraid  for  Venice; 
think  Austrian  aeroplanes  will  throw  bombs  on 
St.  Mark.     It  would  be  too  awful. 

We  had  rather  a  disagreeable  communication 
from  Mareuil  this  morning,  saying  our  house  had 
been  requisitioned  by  the  military  authorities, 
and  the  officer  in  command  of  the  group  of  auto- 
mobilistes  had  asked  for  seven  rooms  and  the  use 
of  the  kitchen  and  dining-room.    It  is  a  great  bore 


228  MY  WAR  DIARY 

as  we  want  to  go  down  ourselves  for  a  week  or 
ten  days;  but  we  can't  refuse  in  war  times,  with 
the  whole  country  under  martial  law.  We  talked 
it  over  with  C,  who  had  come  in  from  Versailles 
for  Comtesse  Foy's  funeral — and  gave  Mme.  G. 
her  instructions.  She  could  give  six  rooms  in  the 
new  house,  and  the  use  of  the  kitchen.  I  reserved 
the  dining-room  and  old  house  until  we  were  able 
to  come  down  and  see  what  arrangements  we 
could  make. 

Thursday,  May  27th. 

Went  out  to  the  American  Ambulance  this 
afternoon.  There  were  a  great  many  people 
there,  as  it  was  visiting-day.  All  the  doors  and 
windows  were  open,  the  convalescents  sitting 
out  on  the  terrace  and  perrons;  almost  all  had 
friends  and  presents — flowers,  cigarettes,  illus- 
trated papers. 

Therese  de  Segur  is  at  the  head  of  one  of  the 
great  Paris  hospitals;  was  delighted,  thought 
everything  from  wards  to  kitchen  was  so  splen- 
didly clean  and  airy. 

We  stopped  at  Charlotte's  ouvroir  on  our  way 
down,  and  she  was  much  interested  in  all  the 
garments  the  ladies  were  making.  There  are  two 
sewing-machines,  a  cutting-out  table,  and  they 
really  get  through  a  great  deal  of  work.  It  is 
quite  different  from  our  ouvroir,  where  we  don't 
work  ourselves,  merely  give  work  to  women,  and 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         229 

see  the  soldiers  who  eome  and  ask  for  clothes — 
always  shirts;  and  a  great  many,  even  in  this 
warm  weather,  still  prefer  woollen  socks  to  cotton 
ones. 

Friday,  May  28th. 

I  went  up  to  rue  de  la  Pompe  to  see  the  con- 
tents of  a  box  just  received  from  the  Clearing- 
House.  All  good  things.  We  had  a  quiet  after- 
noon at  the  ouvroir,  but  one  or  two  blind  soldiers, 
so  sad — one  quite  young  man,  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  good-looking  fellow,  led  in  by  a  com- 
rade. I  talked  to  him  a  little,  asking  him  what 
he  wanted.  He  said  to  me:  "Je  ne  puis  pas  vous 
voir,  Madame.  Etes-vous  jeune,  ou  mere  de 
famille?"  "Non,  mon  ami,  je  ne  suis  pas  jeune; 
je  suis  mere  de  famille — m£me  grand'mere,  et  j'ai 
un  fils  au  front,  comme  vous."  "Que  Dieu  vous 
le  garde,  Madame;  je  ne  verrai  jamais  plus  les 
miens . "  B  ut  not  a  word  of  complaint .  I  couldn '  t 
make  any  phrases  to  him  of  losing  his  sight  in  a 
glorious  cause — a  young,  strong  man,  not  thirty 
years  old,  in  total  darkness  for  the  rest  of  his  life ! 
I  put  my  hand  on  his  sleeve,  saying:  "Mon  pauvre 
ami!" — and  then  the  poor  fellow  broke  down 
and  cried,  and  I  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  feeling  a 
choke  in  my  throat.  Of  course  the  Government 
will  look  after  them,  and  they  will  all  be  taught 
trades,  but  it  is  pitiful  to  see  them. 

It  seems  there  was  a  group  of  wounded  and  one 


230  MY  WAR  DIARY 

blind  man  on  the  terrace  of  one  of  the  hospitals 
one  day,  all  rejoicing  in  the  bright  sunlight  that 
gave  a  touch  of  warm  light  to  everything;  the 
Seine,  the  hills  in  the  distance,  and  pointing  out 
to  each  other  the  fortifications  and  trenches  of 
the  camp  retrenche.  The  blind  man  stood  apart, 
looking  sad  and  lonely.  A  young  nurse  went  up 
to  him,  took  his  arm  and  led  him  into  a  corner 
where  he  could  feel  the  sun,  and  holding  his 
ringers,  pointed  out  the  various  points  the  men 
were  talking  about.  By  degrees,  all  the  other 
men  joined  them,  explaining  and  talking  to  the 
blind  soldier,  who  was  quite  excited,  as  the  nurse 
moved  his  hand  backward  and  forward,  and  al- 
most seemed  to  see  the  various  points;  forgot  for 
a  while  his  misfortune  and  fought  his  battle  over 
again  with  his  comrades. 

It  seems  that  some  of  them  were  so  miserable 
when  they  realised  their  sight  was  gone  that  they 
did  not  tell  them  at  once,  waited  until  they  were 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  blow;  let  them  think 
it  was  a  temporary  deprivation  of  sight. 

Mareuil,  Thursday,  June  3rd. 
We  came  down  yesterday.  For  the  last  week 
we  have  been  getting  letters  from  the  cure,  from 
Mme.  Gaillard,  telling  us  the  house  was  always 
full  of  French  soldiers,  who  behaved  very  badly; 
the  officer,  ordering  all  the  rooms  opened,  estab- 
lished himself  in  my  bedroom,  and  wished  to  put 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         231 

his  orderly  in  one  of  the  good  chambres  d'ami  next 
to  him.  They  wanted  extra  blankets  and  lamps, 
and  Mme.  G.  to  do  their  cooking.  At  last  the 
poor  woman  came  up  to  Paris,  saying  she  couldn't 
take  such  a  responsibility  and  face  the  situation 
alone.  Her  son  has  just  been  mobilise.  She  is 
alone  with  one  young  maid  in  the  house.  That 
morning's  mail  had  brought  me  a  letter  from  an 
officer,  saying  my  servants  were  very  impolite, 
etc.,  so  we  thought  we  had  better  go  down. 

I  wrote  to  the  officer  and  the  mayor,  saying 
what  rooms  I  would  give  and,  above  all,  what 
rooms  I  wouldn't;  and  agreed  to  go  down  as 
soon  as  I  could.  I  also  gave  Mme.  G.  a  letter 
that  she  could  show  to  the  officer,  telling  her  what 
rooms  to  give,  and  that  we  were  coming  down  as 
soon  as  I  could  get  away  from  my  work  in  Paris 
— and  here  we  are. 

We  took  the  5.30  train  in  the  afternoon  and  got 
down  a  little  before  8.  Though  we  are  no  longer 
in  the  military  zone,  we  still  had  soldiers  at  the 
station,  and  had  to  show  our  sauf -conduits.  Our 
first  surprise  was  seeing  Mme  G.  at  the  station 
with  a  rather  smart-looking  ordonnance  and  her 
wheelbarrow — the  well-known  wheelbarrow  which 
we  always  use  for  carrying  the  small  parcels  back- 
ward and  forward. 

The  courtyard  of  the  station  was  full  of  big 
American  lorries  and  autobuses.  It  seems  the 
Corps  de  Ravitaillement  is  stationed  here,  and 


232  MY  WAR  DIARY 

our  militaires  are  the  gentlemen  chauffeurs  of  the 
autos.  We  walked  to  the  house,  rather  wonder- 
ing what  we  should  find,  and  were  met  just  inside 
the  gate  by  a  young  officer  in  uniform,  who  intro- 
duced himself  as  Lieutenant  D.  (the  gentleman 
with  whom  I  had  corresponded).  He  asked  me 
if  he  could  do  anything  for  us.  He  had  wanted 
to  send  his  automobile  to  the  station,  but  Mme.  G. 
told  him  we  always  walked,  but  that  his  ordon- 
nance  had  gone.  He  thanked  us  for  our  hos- 
pitality; said  he  and  his  comrades  would  give  us 
as  little  trouble  as  possible,  and  retired  by  the 
garden  entrance.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  his  face, 
but  he  had  a  gentleman's  voice  and  manner.  All 
the  same,  it  seemed  funny  to  be  welcomed  in  our 
own  courtyard  by  a  perfect  stranger,  and  to  see 
the  garage  and  kitchen  lighted,  and  silhouettes  of 
soldiers  everywhere. 

We  went  into  the  house  to  see  what  arrange- 
ments we  could  make.  The  table  was  laid  for  us 
in  the  dining-room,  and  Mme.  G.  told  us  the 
gentlemen  hoped  we  would  allow  them  to  send  us 
some  filet  de  bceuf  and  asperges  for  our  dinner, 
also  a  bottle  of  good  wine.  I  wanted  some  soap 
and  went  into  the  office  to  see  if  my  bag  was 
there — a  very  good-looking  young  soldier,  tall, 
fair,  rather  like  an  Englishman,  was  standing 
there,  lighting  a  lamp.  He  came  forward,  intro- 
ducing himself;  had  a  very  good,  easy  manner. 
What  could  he  do  for  me?    Would  I  allow  him 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         233 

to  send  me  some  soap  ?  I  said  I  had  plenty,  was 
looking  for  my  bag.  He  went  to  see  if  it  was  in 
the  hall,  and  through  the  half -open  door  I  saw 
several  soldiers  in  the  kitchen,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  about  seven  or  eight  dining  in  the  small 
courtyard,  just  outside  the  office. 

We  made  the  best  arrangements  we  could  for 
the  night,  and  when  we  went  down  to  dinner 
found  the  boys  in  a  wild  state  of  delight.  They 
had  made  acquaintance  with  all  the  seven  soldiers 
who  were  dining.  My  eldest  grandson,  aged  ten, 
said:  "They  were  all  very  polite,  Danny,  got  up 
when  we  came  into  the  court,  and  Mme.  Gaillard 
told  them  we  were  'les  jeunes  maitres  de  maison,' 
and  the  Lieutenant  introduced  all  of  them  to  us." 

After  dinner  Charlotte  and  I  went  out  to  speak 
to  them.  They  are  a  nice-looking  set  of  young 
fellows.  We  asked  them  all  to  dine  with  us  to- 
morrow. We  are  comfortable  in  the  old  house. 
I  sleep  in  the  nursery,  which  is  my  old  room,  and 
is  still  full  of  the  boys'  toys  and  books.  The 
Germans  didn't  take  anything  from  there,  except 
one  charming  little  statue  of  the  Virgin  which 
Charlotte  had  had  all  her  life.  It  is  certainly 
many  years  since  I  have  slept  with  a  hoop  over 
my  head,  but  it  seems  solidly  hung.  I  hope  it 
won't  come  down  in  the  night.  The  boys  will 
sleep  to-night  on  their  mattress  on  the  floor,  in 
Charlotte's  boudoir.  She  is  in  her  own  room. 
To-morrow  we  will  settle  ourselves  better. 


234  MY  WAR  DIARY 

The  house  is  very  still;  we  don't  hear  a  sound; 
would  never  imagine  it  was  full  of  men. 

It  has  been  a  lovely  warm  day.  It  was  delicious 
to  be  waked  up  in  the  morning  by  the  smell  of 
roses  climbing  into  the  windows.  The  roses  are 
lovely — quantities  of  them,  and  all  the  trees  and 
bushes  grown  enormously — but  the  lawns,  planted 
with  potatoes,  beans,  and  peas,  look  too  awful; 
but  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  They  had  been 
so  cut  up  and  trampled  upon  with  horses  picketed 
on  them,  that  the  only  hope  of  ever  having  decent 
lawns  again  was  to  dig  them  all  up  and  plant 
potatoes. 

By  7  o'clock  the  boys  were  in  the  garden, 
playing  about  with  some  of  the  young  men. 
They  sent  us  their  chauffeur  to  help  move  some 
of  our  heavy  furniture.  We  shall  settle  ourselves 
for  the  present  in  the  old  house,  as  we  shall 
always  be  liable  to  have  French  troops  or  British, 
so  long  as  the  war  lasts. 

We  have  put  up  a  curtain  at  the  end  of  the 
corridor,  in  the  wing,  so  we  are  quite  shut  off, 
and  none  of  the  men  ever  come  up  the  big  stair- 
case or  into  our  part.  The  Lieutenant  uses 
Francis'  fumoir  as  his  bureau,  and  they  take  all 
their  meals  outside  on  the  children's  lawn  or  play- 
ground, the  only  one  which  has  not  been  cut  up, 
under  the  big  pear-tree. 

It  is  beautiful  weather.     If  it  rained,  of  course 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         235 

they  would  have  to  come  inside.  I  suppose  one 
office  could  be  arranged  as  a  dining-room  for 
them.  They  certainly  don't  deprive  themselves 
of  anything  in  the  way  of  food,  seem  to  have  the 
best  of  everything,  and  are  constantly  asking 
what  they  can  send  us.  It  is  always  a  filet  de 
bceuf,  as  the  army  lives  on  beef. 

The  chauffeur  has  also  mended  our  motor 
which  pumps  the  water  up-stairs.  We  sat  in  the 
garden  all  day,  being  quite  lazy  and  quiet.  The 
boys  played  about  with  the  soldiers.  They  have 
quite  taken  possession  of  the  premises;  have  a 
pig — "Anatole,"  and  chickens.  There  was  wild 
excitement  at  one  moment  when  Anatole  escaped 
from  his  house  and  trotted  about  among  the  young 
potato-plants.  I  sent  for  one  of  the  men  and  ex- 
plained that  I  couldn't  have  the  pig  running  about 
the  garden;  he  must  be  shut  up. 

We  invited  all  the  gentlemen  to  dine  to-night. 
We  had  brought  down  chickens  and  ham,  vege- 
tables and  fruit  from  Paris,  and  they  accepted 
with  pleasure,  sending  us  word  by  Mme.  G.  that 
they  had  a  filet  de  bceuf,  which  they  begged  we 
would  accept.  We  asked  them,  all  seven,  and  the 
two  little  maids  were  rather  nervous  as  to  how 
they  could  serve  so  many  people.  We  would  be 
eleven,  and  we  were  rather  nervous  too,  as  to 
knives  and  forks  and  spoons,  as  we  have  not  re- 
placed what  the  Germans  had  taken — bringing 
down  merely  what  we  wanted  ourselves.      But 


236  MY  WAR  DIARY 

about  4  o'clock  the  Lieutenant  sent  us  word  there 
would  only  be  four  of  them,  the  others  were  de 
service.  (The  maids  told  us  they  were  too  shy  to 
come.) 

The  dinner  went  very  well.  The  chauffeur 
helped  in  the  office.  The  Lieutenant  was  the  only 
regular  officer.  He  had  been  wounded  at  Char- 
leroi,  left  rather  delicate  and  a  little  deaf,  and  had 
been  given  this  place  for  a  rest.  The  other  men 
were  sons  of  rich  industriels,  two  from  Lille,  which 
is  now  occupied  by  the  Germans.  They  have 
had  no  news  of  their  families  for  months — one,  a 
nice  young  fellow — Pinto  d'Arringo,  son  of  a  Bra- 
zilian naturalised  Frenchman,  with  an  English 
grandmother.  They  had  all  seen  a  little  service. 
One  broad-shouldered,  nice  young  man  had  been 
in  the  fighting  all  around  us  at  Vareddes-Barcy. 
They  were  a  little  shy  at  first,  but  the  boys  helped 
us.  They  asked  so  many  questions,  and  were  so 
intensely  interested  in  everything  the  young  men 
said,  that  it  put  them  at  their  ease. 

We  went  into  the  big  salon  after  dinner,  which 
looked  ghastly;  no  table-covers,  nor  cushions 
anywhere,  and  bare  spaces  on  the  walls  where 
the  Germans  had  taken  pictures.  We  had  a  won- 
derful collection  of  lamps,  some  old  ones  that 
Mme.  G.  had  found  in  the  garden,  one  borrowed 
from  the  grocer,  and  one  or  two  small  ones  be- 
longing to  the  soldiers;  but  in  war-times  it  didn't 
matter.     The  piano  was  not  too  bad,   and  we 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  237 

made  music.  One  man  played  the  violin  well, 
and  Pinto  sang  quite  prettily.  We  sang  various 
choruses,  ending  with  the  national  airs  and 
"Tipperary"  and  the  famous  march  of  "Sambre 
et  Meuse." 

Friday,  June  4th. 

It  has  been  very  hot  all  day.  Charlotte  and  I 
were  busy  up-stairs  putting  away  all  sorts  of 
things,  as  we  shall  lock  up  two  rooms.  The  pres- 
ent lot  of  soldiers  are  perfectly  civil  and  reason- 
able, but  one  never  knows  what  the  next  may  be. 

After  tea  we  walked  up  to  the  church  to  see  the 
statue  of  the  Virgin  and  Child  the  cure  has  had 
put  up  in  gratitude  for  the  saving  of  his  church. 
When  the  Germans  were  approaching  Mareuil, 
and  the  village  was  6vacuee  par  ordre  militaire,  he 
went  to  the  church  before  leaving,  to  take  a  last 
look.  He  had  hidden  all  the  vessels  and  archives. 
Kneeling  at  the  altar,  praying  that  his  church 
would  not  be  bombarded  nor  desecrated,  he  made 
a  vow  that  if  it  was  untouched  (it  is  a  fine  old 
church  of  the  twelfth  century)  he  would  put  up  a 
statue  to  the  Virgin.  Nothing  was  touched,  and 
as  soon  as  the  village  settled  down  a  little  after 
fourteen  days  of  exile,  he  began  his  work. 

The  statue  stands  very  well  at  the  back  of  the 
church,  on  the  hill  overlooking  the  canal.  It  is 
very  well  done,  Very  simple,  and  can  be  seen  at  a 
fair  distance  from  below,  and  from  the  canal. 


238  MY  WAR  DIARY 

We  walked  home  by  the  canal,  stopping  to  talk 
to  all  the  women — and  seeing  soldiers  everywhere. 
I  don't  know  what  will  happen  with  all  those 
good-looking  warriors  about,  quite  changing  the 
usual  aspect  of  Mareuil.  The  war  will  be  an- 
swerable for  all  sorts  of  incidents.  I  think  the 
cure  is  very  anxious. 

Saturday,  June  5th. 
We  had  a  most  strenuous  and  interesting  day 
yesterday.  With  much  difficulty  we  got  sauf- 
conduits  to  go  to  Villers-Cotterets,  about  fourteen 
miles  from  us.  We  heroically  decided  to  take 
again  the  grocer's  tapissiere — that  most  uncom- 
fortable, narrow,  springless  four-wheeled  cart,  but 
he  had  a  good  horse,  and  we  thought  we  were 
quite  safe  with  our  sauf-conduits — but  the  grocer 
hadn't  any!  We  hadn't  thought  of  him.  We 
consulted  our  Lieutenant,  suggesting  that  he 
might,  perhaps  take  us  in  his  auto.  But  he  was 
overwhelmed  at  the  mere  idea.  He  couldn't  take 
any  civilian  in  his  car,  and  above  all,  no  woman — ■ 
not  even  his  own  wife  if  she  were  there,  or  a  Red 
Cross  nurse.  However,  he  did  what  he  could ;  said 
he  was  going  into  Villers-Cotterets  on  duty  Satur- 
day morning,  and  would  come  back  as  soon  as  he 
could;  but  not  before  10.30.  So  we  gave  him 
rendezvous  at  the  bottom  of  the  Bourneville  hill, 
where  the  poste  des  gendarmes  is  stationed,  and 
started  at  10  in  our  most  ramshackle  vehicle. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  239 

It  was  rather  amusing  waiting  at  the  poste. 
The  gendarmes  knew  us  well.  Two  of  them  had 
been  quartered  for  some  weeks  at  our  house,  and 
I  presented  them  each  with  blankets  when  they 
went  away.  They  brought  us  chairs,  and  we 
sat  on  the  bank,  under  the  trees,  and  saw  all  the 
people  (not  many,  only  military)  who  passed; 
the  consigne  was  very  strict;  every  auto,  even 
with  officers  in  it  was  stopped.  There  was  a  bar- 
ricade across  the  road  with  a  narrow  opening,  just 
wide  enough  to  let  one  carriage  pass.  As  soon  as 
the  gendarmes  saw  a  carriage  coming  down  the 
hill,  one  of  them  stepped  forward,  holding  up  his 
gun  horizontally,  to  bar  the  way.  One  unfortu- 
nate young  woman  was  most  indignant.  She  had 
bicycled  all  the  way  from  Meaux,  twenty-five 
miles,  in  the  boiling  heat,  and  thought  her  papers 
were  all  right;  but  the  Captain  of  gendarmes 
was  very  stern,  and  wouldn't  let  her  pass.  They 
are  still  afraid  of  spies,  and  unfortunately  some 
of  the  worst  are  women. 

Our  Lieutenant  appeared  very  punctually  at 
10.30  with  the  grocer's  sauf -conduit,  and  we 
started.  It  was  very  hot  creeping  up  the  long  hill, 
just  out  of  La  Ferte ;  but  once  in  the  forest  it  was 
delightful.  The  big  trees  made  a  perfect  thick 
shade.  It  was  very  still,  not  a  sign  of  life  or  cul- 
ture. We  met  nothing  but  military  autos  and 
trains  of  lorries  and  autobuses,  which  made  long 
trails  of  dust,  and  filled  the  air  with  the  smell  of 


240  MY  WAR  DIARY 

petroleum.  We  were  certainly  the  only  civils  on 
the  road.  At  the  entrance  of  the  town,  just  be- 
fore we  crossed  the  railroad,  two  mitrailleuses, 
most  sinister-looking  objects,  were  stationed.  Vil- 
lers  was  bristling  with  soldiers,  as  it  is  the  head- 
quarters of  the  6me  armee. 

We  went  first  to  the  H6tel  du  Dauphin,  where 
we  always  used  to  breakfast  in  the  old  days, 
when  we  hunted  in  the  Villers-Cotterets  forest, 
but  it  does  not  exist  any  longer  as  a  hotel — is 
turned  into  a  military  administration  of  some 
kind.  An  officer  who  was  at  the  door  advised 
us  to  go  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Chasse,  some  little  dis- 
tance off,  and  quite  unknown  to  me.  It  looked 
rather  nice,  with  a  large  courtyard  and  flowers  in 
the  garden,  which  was  filled  with  officers  break- 
fasting, who  were  all  much  interested  in  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  two  ladies  and  two  children 
so  near  the  front.  They  listened  hard  while  we 
explained  to  the  patronne  that  we  had  come  from 
Mareuil,  and  were  very  hungry.  She  gave  us  a 
very  good  breakfast,  and  then  we  started  off  to 
see  if  we  could  find  an  officer  of  the  Etat-Major, 
and  get  a  permission  to  go  nearer  the  front  be- 
hind the  last  line  of  trenches,  and  distribute  some 
clothes  and  food  to  the  poor  people.  Many  of 
the  peasants  went  back  to  their  ruined  villages 
once  the  Germans  were  out  of  them,  and  were 
encamped  there  in  absolute  .misery,  living  in 
wagons  or  sheds — any  sort  of  shelter  they  had 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  241 

been  able  to  find.  We  wanted  very  much  to  get 
to  them,  but  the  officer  whom  we  interviewed 
wouldn't  hear  of  it.  He  was  much  surprised  at 
seeing  us  at  Villers-Cotterets,  and  thought  that 
we  should  not  have  been  given  a  sauf -conduit. 
"It  was  no  place  for  civils,  nor  women  and  chil- 
dren." "Had  we  come  from  Paris?"  "No,  by 
road  from  Mareuil."  That  surprised  him  still 
more.  "Did  we  meet  any  civils  on  the  road?" 
"No,  not  one."  He  again  repeated  that  it  was  no 
place  for  women,  and  advised  us  to  get  back  at 
once  before  nightfall;  said  there  was  no  possi- 
bility of  getting  any  nearer  the  front,  these  days, 
with  fighting  going  on  all  around  us. 

We  meant  to  go  to  the  hospital  to  see  what 
they  wanted  there  (we  had  already  sent  several 
boxes  of  bandages  and  hospital  shirts  from  the 
ouvroir),  but  were  advised  not  to,  as  there  were 
several  cases  of  typhus,  and  it  was  very  hot. 
We  loitered  a  little  in  the  town,  hearing  the  can- 
non much  nearer  and  louder  than  at  Mareuil. 

The  people  say  they  are  accustomed  to  it  now; 
don't  mind  it.  What  they  don't  like  are  the 
shells.  We  talked  to  some  of  the  shop  people, 
and  bought  pens  and  briquets  made  by  the  sol- 
diers in  the  trenches  out  of  pieces  of  German 
shells.  As  a  rule  the  people  did  not  complain  of 
the  Germans;  said  they  behaved  well  when  peo- 
ple remained  in  their  houses;  but  it  was  a  reign 
of  terror;    all  the  mothers  terrified  to  have  their 


242  MY  WAR  DIARY 

boys  playing  about,  as  they  made  short  work 
with  boys  if  they  got  in  their  way,  or  didn't  in- 
stantly guide  them  to  any  place  they  wanted  to 
go  to,  or  answer  their  questions — they  shot  so 
many  in  Belgium — boys  of  eight  to  ten  years, 
who  certainly  did  them  no  harm. 

The  drive  home  was  lovely.  The  country  looks 
beautiful,  but  one  felt  so  strongly  the  tragic  still- 
ness and  absence  of  life  and  movement.  We 
stopped  at  La  Ferte,  and  had  tea  with  the  abb6 
in  his  garden,  which  was  green  and  quiet  and 
peaceful,  such  a  contrast  to  the  street,  quite 
choked  up  with  lorries  and  heavy  carts  and 
wagons,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  war. 

Our  cur6  came  to  dinner — a  most  frugal  meal. 
We  sat  until  10  o'clock  in  the  garden,  and  our 
militaires  came  and  talked  to  us.  They  were  in- 
teresting, telling  their  experiences  and  the  horrors 
they  had  seen.  One  young  man,  son  of  a  rich 
bourgeois,  was  much  impressed  by  the  war;  said 
he  could  never  forget  the  first  dead  he  saw  after 
the  battle  of  the  Marne,  in  a  village  near  us; 
fifty  Germans  lying  dead  in  the  fields — and  that 
was  nothing  to  what  he  felt  when  he  came  a  little 
later  upon  forty  or  fifty  Frenchmen  lying  in  heaps, 
some  with  such  expressions  of  suffering  on  their 
faces.  He  said  he  could  hardly  get  past  the 
bodies;  as  he  turned  into  a  courtyard  of  an  old 
chateau,  he  suddenly  came  upon  a  German  sol- 
dier who  was  terror-stricken,  unarmed,  throwing 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  243 

up  his  hands,  begging  for  life.  "I  couldn't  kill 
him,  Madame,  there  in  cold  blood,  a  perfectly 
helpless,  unarmed  man — though  I  suppose  I 
should  have  done  it  with  the  bodies  of  my  com- 
rades lying  so  near.  But  I  couldn't.  I  took  him 
prisoner  and  handed  him  over  to  the  authorities. " 

They  all  said  what  we  often  do,  that  no  one 
who  had  been  through  this  war  could  ever  be  the 
same  again;  the  entire  mentality  must  change. 

The  boys  listened  with  rapt  attention,  and 
later,  when  he  was  going  to  bed,  the  eldest  one, 
Willy,  said  to  me:  "Why  didn't  he  kill  the  wicked 
German,  Danny,  who  had  killed  so  many  French- 
men?" 

This  morning  we  hear  the  cannon  distinctly, 
about  twenty  miles  away,  the  militaires  say.  They 
went  off  early,  at  4  this  morning,  to  take  food  to 
the  men  in  the  trenches  near  Soissons,  and  said 
it  was  infernal — the  sky  a  blaze  of  fire,  and  the 
steady  roar  of  the  big  guns.  And  here  it  is  the 
Fete-Dieu;  the  children  came  early  to  the  gar- 
den and  carried  off  as  many  roses  as  they  could 
find,  and  one  or  two  reposoirs  dressed  with 
flowers  have  been  arranged  on  the  road  on  the 
route  of  the  procession;  and  the  girls  in  then- 
white  frocks  will  scatter  roses  before  the  sacra- 
ment. "Le  Bon  Dieu  qui  passe,"  as  they  say 
in  the  country,  and  all  ought  to  be  peaceful  and 
smiling. 

During  the  mass  every  time  there  was  a  silence 


244  MY  WAR  DIARY 

in  the  church,  we  heard  the  long,  steady  growl  of 
the  cannon,  and  we  wonder  who  will  be  missing 
at  the  roll-call. 

We  are  taking  the  last  train  this  evening  for 
Paris.  It  would  be  impossible  to  travel  in  the 
daytime  in  this  heat. 

I  am  writing  in  my  room,  leaving  written  in- 
structions to  Mme.  G.  and  the  mayor  as  to  what 
rooms  I  will  give.  I  hear  voices  and  laughter  in 
the  garden,  and  see  the  boys  having  a  fine  game 
of  ball  with  Pinto,  and  Charlotte  being  photo- 
graphed under  the  little  "pergola  C."  by  one  of 
the  young  men.  It  has  been  curious  and  inter- 
esting living  there  three  or  four  days  with  the 
army.  It  has  brought  us  into  such  direct  con- 
tact with  the  soldiers.  We  have  thought  and 
talked  of  nothing  but  the  war.  The  autos  and 
motor-cycles  came  in  and  out  of  the  courtyard  all 
day,  and  we  always  heard  the  rumble  of  the  big 
autobuses  as  they  went  backward  and  forward. 

We  sent  our  letters  off  by  the  military  autos. 
They  passed  twice  a  day  and  took  our  letters,  if 
we  left  them  at  the  poste.  The  postal  service  is 
very  irregular,  the  telephone  cut  entirely,  and  the 
telegraph  reserved  for  the  army.  It  was  Mareuil 
under  a  very  different  aspect. 

Our  soldiers  told  us  they  expected  and  hoped 
to  remain  still  ten  days  or  a  fortnight  at  Mareuil, 
and  they  would  certainly  take  care  of  the  prop- 
erty.    We  begged  them  to  use  the  dining-room 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915  245 

when  we  had  gone.  As  long  as  we  were  there 
they  dined  outside  in  the  courtyard  under  the 
office  windows;  but  it  didn't  disturb  us  at  all  as 
they  dined  much  earlier  than  we  did.  Mme.  G. 
and  the  chauffeur  did  their  cooking,  and  I  imagine 
the  chauffeur  did  ours,  too.  They  were  all  on  the 
best  of  terms. 

I  wonder  what  the  next  turn  of  the  wheel  will 
bring,  and  when  and  how  we  shall  see  Mareuil 
again ! 

Tuesday,  June  15th, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 

I  was  busy  in  the  morning,  looking  over  and 
putting  into  boxes  Willy's  papers — finished  with 
the  Congres  de  Berlin  and  the  Coronation  of  the 
Emperor  Alexander.     It  all  seems  another  life 
so  far  away. 

All  the  Aisne  letters  and  newspapers  were  most 
interesting.  I  found  some  sauf-conduits  (passes) 
from  German  officers,  written  in  German,  in  1870, 
and  various  letters  about  prisoners,  wounded  sol- 
diers, and  francs-tireurs,  of  whom  the  Germans 
were  always  afraid — some  letters  from  mayors 
and  farmers,  all  about  Bourneville,  from  where  W. 
had  sent  soldiers  to  join  Bourbaki's  army. 

I  have  put  all  the  papers  of  that  time  together, 
and  when  the  war  is  over  and  Francis  comes 
back,  we  will  arrange  a  book  with  the  reminiscences 
of  the  father  and  the  son,  of  the  two  wars. 


246  MY  WAR  DIARY 

It  is  warm  this  evening.  C.  and  I  sat  in  the 
small  salon  with  open  windows  and  no  lights, 
trying  to  make  some  sort  of  plans  for  the  summer. 
We  give  up  this  apartment  on  the  15th,  and  are 
literally  dans  la  rue.  The  doctor  says  we  mustn't 
establish  ourselves  at  Mareuil ;  there  are  so  many 
dead  men  and  horses  buried  near  us,  in  the  fields, 
that  it  would  not  be  possible.  We  must  let  a 
winter  and  cold  weather  pass  before  settling  there 
again. 

The  street  is  perfectly  quiet  and  empty;  we 
might  be  in  any  small  provincial  town — only  the 
search-lights  from  the  Tour  Eiffel  sweep  over  it 
from  time  to  time. 

Wednesday,  June  16th,  '1$. 

Many  soldiers  came  to  be  dressed  before  going 
back,  and  some  of  them  brought  wives  and  chil- 
dren ;  but  the  greater  part  of  them  were  from  the 
pays  evacues,  hadn't  heard  anything  of  their 
families  since  the  beginning  of  the  war,  in  August. 
It  is  very  difficult  to  get  any  news  from  the  de- 
partments that  are  occupied  by  the  Germans. 

We  had  one  or  two  people  to  dinner.  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Watson  who  have  been  untiring  in  their 
work  and  sympathy  for  the  fighting  nations, 
Mr.  H.,  the  novelist,  and  Comte  H.  de  P.  The 
last  two  men  stayed  on  a  little  while,  talking  after 
the  others  left. 

Mr.  Herrick  was  just  from  Venice ;  said  the  en- 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         247 

thusiasm  there  when  war  was  declared  and  the 
troops  left  was  extraordinary,  and  the  old  hatred 
of  the  Austrians  flared  out  like  fire.  He  was 
much  interested,  too,  in  all  Portes  told  him  of 
the  feeling  in  the  country,  in  France,  which  so 
few  foreigners  ever  get  really  to  know — that  curi- 
ous, respectful  intimacy  that  exists  in  the  country, 
between  the  grand  seigneur,  the  owner  of  the 
chateau,  and  the  village  people,  the  butcher,  the 
farmer,  the  cantonnier,  all  with  their  opinions, 
and  all  delighted  to  talk  politics  and  agriculture 
with  the  chatelain. 

Thursday,  June  17th. 

Another  lovely  summer  day.  H.  and  I  went 
late  to  the  Bois;  had  tea  at  the  Chalet  des  Gauf- 
fres,  close  to  Paillard's.  It  was  lovely  sitting  there 
under  the  shade  of  the  big  trees,  but  so  quiet  and 
empty.  One  would  almost  forget  the  war  except 
that  every  now  and  then  a  wounded  soldier  would 
pass,  sometimes  head  bandaged  and  arm  in  a 
sling,  and  often  a  poor  fellow  limping  along  on 
crutches,  the  trouser  hanging  loose  from  the 
knee,  a  nurse  in  uniform  walking  with  him. 
Everybody  had  a  "Bon  jour,  mon  ami!"  for  the 
soldiers,  and  they  seemed  pleased  at  the  sympathy. 

Mme.  de  G.  and  Bella  V.  dined,  and  Bella  was 
most  interesting.  She  had  been  to  Nancy  and 
Luneville  to  see  her  husband,  who  commands  a 
cavalry  regiment  in  those  regions.     It  was  the 


248  MY  WAR  DIARY 

first  time  she  had  seen  any  of  the  horrors  of  war, 
as  she  was  in  England  when  the  war  broke  out, 
and  couldn't  get  back  to  her  home  in  Cambrai, 
which  is  occupied  by  the  Germans.  She  was 
horror-stricken  at  the  sights — ruined  villages — 
nothing  but  heaps  of  ashes — desolated  fields,  with 
every  now  and  then  a  small  mound  and  a  rustic 
cross  of  sticks,  showing  somebody  was  buried, 
there ;  one  or  two  chateaux  completely  destroyed, 
no  roof,  no  windows,  nothing  but  the  four  walls 
standing,  and  great  holes  in  them.  The  I.'s  have 
lost  everything — all  the  inside  of  their  beautiful 
old  chateau  burned,  and  everything  of  value  taken 
away — accumulations  of  centuries,  pictures,  tapes- 
tries, books,  nothing  left.  I  wonder  how  many 
more  will  be  in  the  same  condition  before  the  end 
of  the  war.  The  Germans  will  certainly  burn 
and  plunder  all  the  country  behind  them  when 
they  begin  their  retreat — when  !  .  .  . 

Saturday,  June  19th. 
We  have  been  very  much  taken  up  with  pat- 
terns of  masks  at  the  ouvroir  to-day.  Something 
must  be  found  to  protect  the  soldiers  from  the 
terrible  asphyxiating  gas  used  by  the  Germans. 
The  nurses  who  have  taken  care  of  some  of  the 
poor  fellows  who  were  caught  in  those  vapours, 
said  it  was  awful  to  see  them  gasping  and  choking 
their  lives  away.  Our  doctor  says  we  ought  to 
have  masks.     If  there  should  be  a  great  Zeppelin 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         249 

raid  with  poisoned  bombs,  and  our  windows  got 
broken,  we  should  certainly  need  masks  to  pro- 
tect ourselves.  I  wonder  if  we  would  ever  put 
them  on.  I  don't  think  there  is  much  danger 
for  us  au  ier,  but  the  maids  on  the  sixth  floor  would 
feel  happier — so  we  will  procure  them  for  all  the 
household. 

To-day  has  been  a  day  of  rumours,  street  ru- 
mours, which  all  the  maids  hear  and  believe.  The 
metro  (underground  railway) — a  tunnel  pierced 
through  from  Soissons  to  Paris — Paris  blown  up ! 
I  think  there  should  be  a  severe  punishment  for 
the  spreading  of  such  reports.  Some  people  are 
easily  frightened,  and  a  panic  in  the  civil  popu- 
lation might  have  had  a  bad  effect  at  the  front. 

I  don't  like  the  Zeppelin  alarms  myself,  the 
pompiers  dashing  through  the  streets  with  that 
sinister  "garde  a  vous,"  gets  on  my  nerves. 

Monday,  June  21st,  191 5. 
I  went  with  Anne  B.  this  afternoon  to  help  her 
tea  at  the  American  Ambulance.  Among  the 
many  good  things  the  Americans  have  done  since 
the  war  broke  out,  is  their  voluntary  service  at 
the  Ambulance,  not  only  as  nurses — many  women 
can't  nurse,  have  no  vocation,  and  are  not  young 
enough,  nor  strong  enough — but  in  many  other 
departments:  bandage-room,  lingerie,  etc.  Every 
afternoon  from  3  to  5  there  is  a  tea  provided  by 
American  ladies  for  all  the  employes  of  the  Am- 


250  MY  WAR  DIARY 

bulance — nurses,  doctors,  orderlies,  chauffeurs, 
boy  scouts.  The  ladies  serve  the  tea  themselves, 
and  it  is  no  sinecure,  as  everybody  takes  two  cups 
of  tea,  some  three.  There  are  cakes  and  buns 
unlimited. 

It  was  interesting  to  see  the  different  types  of 
nurses,  some  ladies,  some  professionals,  of  every 
age  and  nationality,  though,  of  course,  most  of 
them  are  Americans.  Some  of  the  young  ones 
(and  very  young  some  of  them  were),  looked  very 
nice  in  their  short  skirts,  long,  white  blouse 
d'infirmiere,  and  a  pretty  little  cap  of  tulle  or 
muslin  on  their  heads;  some  middle-aged,  serious- 
looking  women,  simply  dressed  in  black  or  dark 
blue  with  the  white  apron,  who  were  extremely 
glad  to  have  a  cup  of  tea,  looked  like  good,  steady 
workers.  It  was  amusing  to  see  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  chauffeurs  asking  for  tea  not  too 
strong.  One  young  fellow  asked  to  have  his  very 
strong.  I  said  to  him:  "It  is  very  bad  for  your 
nerves  to  drink  such  strong  tea."  "I've  done  it 
for  over  twenty-eight  years,  Madame,  and  it  has 
done  me  no  harm  yet."  We  talked  a  little  (he 
was  English),  and  he  told  me  he  was  the  eldest 
of  six  brothers,  all  soldiers  at  the  front.  "How 
old  is  the  youngest  ?  "  "  Just  eighteen ,  Madame. ' ' 
* '  It  was  wicked  to  let  him  go — a  child  ! "  "  Couldn't 
keep  him,  Madame;  all  his  friends  went!"  He 
had  just  come  back  from  the  front  where  he  had 
spent  twenty-four  hours  with  four  of  his  brothers, 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         251 

and  they  had  been  photographed  in  the  trenches. 
"Have  you  got  a  father  or  mother  in  England  to 
send  them  the  picture?"  "Oh,  yes,  Madame; 
they  have  got  the  picture  of  the  five  of  us,  all 
well." 

Thursday,  June  24th. 

It  is  very  warm.  Agnes  Welsh  and  I  went  to 
the  concert  for  the  English  Catholic  church  of 
St.  Joseph.  It  was  well  done:  girl  and  boy 
scouts  sold  programmes,  and  made  a  background 
with  the  flags  of  the  Allies,  when  all  their  na- 
tional airs  were  sung.  An  Englishman  with  a 
pretty  voice  sang  "God  Save  the  King."  He  sang 
two  verses,  then  requested  the  public  to  sing  the 
last  one  with  him,  and  very  well  it  sounded — 
every  one  singing,  including  some  wounded  sol- 
diers, French  and  British,  of  whom  there  were  a 
good  many  in  the  salle.  They  ended  by  the 
"Marseillaise,"  very  well  sung  by  Mme.  H.  of  the 
Op6ra;  and  then,  too,  all  the  public  joined  in  at 
the  last  verse,  and  the  enthusiasm  was  frantic. 

The  "Star-Spangled  Banner,"  under  the  head- 
ing of  "National  Airs  of  the  Allies,"  was  also  very 
well  sung  by  Miss  M.  (Let  us  hope  it  is  a  good 
presage,  and  that  the  sympathies  of  the  United 
States  are  with  the  Allies,  en  attendant  something 
more  tangible.) 


252  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Saturday,  June  26th,  '15. 

It  was  lovely  this  afternoon,  though  warm; 
and  H.  and  I  went  across  the  Champs  Elysees  to 
have  tea  at  Laurent's.  Charlotte  and  Frank 
met  us,  and  we  had  a  pleasant  hour  sitting  under 
the  trees.  It  was  quite  a  new  aspect  of  the  well- 
known  cafe  to  me.  I  have  lunched  and  dined 
there  so  often  in  the  old  days.  I  remember  a 
dinner  there  only  last  June,  the  garden  filled  with 
pretty  women,  very  much  dressed  or  undressed, 
in  that  extraordinary  fashion  of  last  year,  just 
before  the  war,  when  all  the  women  wore  trans- 
parent, clinging  garments — Tziganes  playing,  jeu- 
nesse  doree  smoking  expensive  cigars  and  dis- 
cussing the  winner  of  the  Grand  Prix.  Paris  at 
its  gayest  at  the  end  of  a  brilliant  season.  All 
those  men  have  gone  now,  some  in  the  ranks  as 
simple  privates,  facing  the  awful  days  in  the 
trenches,  and  all  sorts  of  privations,  without  a 
murmur.  Many  have  fallen,  many  come  back 
crippled  for  life,  and  many  more  must  fall  before 
this  awful  war  is  over ! 

There  were  few  people  in  the  garden — women 
and  children — some  nurses  in  their  uniform,  with 
soldiers  and  officers,  all  taking  tea. 

We  asked  a  young  officer,  evidently  on  the 
Staff,  if  the  news  was  good  (there  is  so  much 
camaraderie  now,  everybody  speaks  to  every- 
body). "Mais  oui,  Madame,  nous  les  repous- 
sons  lentement,  bien  lentement,  mais  ils  reculent !" 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,  1915         253 

Sunday,  June  27th,  '15. 
Again  a  lovely  summer  day.  I  met  Comtesse 
de  Franqueville  (nee  Lady  Sophia  Palmer)  coming 
out  of  the  English  church,  and  we  walked  home 
together.  She  was  funny  over  her  own  people; 
says  the  English  are  just  waking  up  to  facts  after 
eleven  months  of  war,  and  realising  that  they  have 
a  terrible  fight  before  them,  and  a  cruel,  vindictive 
enemy  who  must  be  crushed.  She  also  said  all 
her  people  couldn't  say  enough  about  the  French, 
not  only  of  their  fighting  qualities  (they  are  a 
fighting  race),  but  of  their  quiet,  steady  deter- 
mination to  go  on  to  the  bitter  end. 

Monday,  June  28th, 
Rue  de  la  Pompe. 

Anything  so  perfectly  uncomfortable  as  my 
apartment  can't  be  imagined.  One  salon  is 
crammed  with  furniture,  chairs  standing  on  tables 
— trunks  and  boxes  everywhere;  the  large  salon 
and  the  smoking-room  filled  with  garments, 
blankets,  etc.,  for  the  refugees. 

Charlotte  has  done  very  well  with  the  ouvroir 
pour  la  vallee  de  l'Aisne.  People  have  sent 
most  generous  contributions  from  England  and 
America,  and  the  ladies  themselves  have  made  a 
great  many  things.  The  young  women  of  the 
U.  S.  Embassy  have  worked  with  her,  and  they 
have  a  very  good  collection  of  clothes,  from  babies' 
shirts  to  men's  waistcoats  and  trousers,  also  sheets 


254  MY  WAR  DIARY 

and  blankets.  She  has  filled  several  strong  linen 
bags,  also  made  at  the  ouvroir,  with  clothes,  and 
is  sending  off  a  large  envoi  to  the  bishop  of  Sois- 
sons,  who  has  made  an  appeal  for  help  for  the  un- 
fortunate peasants  in  his  diocese,  where  hundreds 
of  villages  have  disappeared  entirely,  nothing  left 
but  a  black,  charred  plain. 

The  bishop  remained  at  Soissons  through  many 
bombardments,  living  in  a  cellar  with  his  parish- 
ioners. He  only  came  away  when  the  bombard- 
ment ceased  a  little,  as  he  felt  he  could  do  more 
for  his  people  if  he  could  move  about  and  tell  of 
their  wretched  situation. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER 
1915 


Friday,  July  2nd,  1915. 

It  was  very  warm  this  morning.  I  lunched 
with  Mme.  de  G.  and  Bella;  Arthur  and  Charlotte 
were  there.  Arthur  was  very  interesting,  telling 
us  about  his  usines  (factories).  He  was  asked  to 
remain  at  his  place.  (He  had  a  brother,  brother- 
in-law,  a  nephew,  and  three  cousins  at  the  front — 
five  Waddingtons  "sous  le  drapeau"),  and  keep 
his  factories  going  to  make  as  much  material  as  he 
could  for  the  army.  But  how  ?  with  whom  ?  All 
his  best  workmen  had  gone  to  the  front.  It  is  in 
such  cases  that  one  realises  what  mobilisation 
means  in  France — all  the  nation  in  arms.  He  de- 
cided to  risk  it  with  some  of  the  old  workmen 
and  women,  and  is  doing  very  well,  the  women 
working  perfectly. 

The  women  have  been  up  to  the  mark  every- 
where, working  in  the  fields,  driving  cabs  and 
ambulances,  and  now  there  are  several  woman 
conductors  on  the  big  tramways.  They  look  very 
well  in  a  long,  black  blouse,  which  completely 
covers  their  dresses,  the  regulation  sacoche  (black 
leather  bag)  slung  over  the  shoulder,  with  a  leather 
strap,  and  a  bonnet  de  police  on  their  heads. 

The  other  day,  when  I  was  going  by  the  tram 
to  the  rue  de  la  Pompe,  a  man  in  the  tram  was 
very  rude  to  the  woman  conductor,  who  was 
young,  evidently  quite  new  to  her  work,  and  who 
wasn't  quite  sure  of  the  stops  at  the  street  corners. 

257 


258  MY  WAR  DIARY 

He  spoke  very  roughly  and  rather  jostled  her,  so 
that  she  nearly  fell  out  of  the  car.  The  men  in 
the  train  remonstrated  vigorously,  and  the  man 
had  to  get  out. 

July  4th. 

A  very  hot  day.  C.  and  I  and  the  boys  went 
up  to  the  Bois  to  lunch  at  the  "Racing  Club" 
with  the  M.'s.  There  were  not  many  people;  the 
breakfast  good,  though  the  service  was  slow. 
There  were  only  two  waiters  for  about  half  a 
dozen  tables.  We  had  ours  outside,  under  the 
trees,  and  were  quite  cool  and  comfortable.  The 
club  is  in  the  middle  of  the  Bois,  quite  shut  in  by 
big  trees.  No  one  was  playing  tennis  except 
some  Japanese,  who  were  playing  extremely  well, 
as  they  do  everything.  They  were  correctly 
dressed  in  white  flannels,  used  all  the  English 
terms,  but  looked  perfectly  exotic.  It  was  curi- 
ous to  see  their  yellow  faces,  with  keen,  narrow 
eyes  and  yellow  hands  coming  out  of  the  white 
flannel  shirt. 

We  had  the  papers,  but  they  are  not  interesting, 
the  war  news  very  brief,  each  day's  communique 
exactly  like  its  predecessor,  and  will  be,  I  suppose, 
until  some  great  battle  or  the  defection  of  one  of 
the  Middle  Empires  gives  a  real  result. 

Friday,  July  9th. 
Charlotte  took  the  little  gold  she  still  had  to 
the  Banque  de  France  this  morning.     The  country 
has  called  upon  every  one  to  take  their  gold  to  the 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        259 

bank,  where  it  will  be  exchanged  for  notes.  We 
hadn't  much,  as  we  had  given  all  ours  to  Francis. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  war  people  said  all  the 
men  must  have  gold  on  them,  as  in  case  they  were 
made  prisoners,  the  gold  would  be  useful;  so  they 
all  had  louis  sewn  in  a  belt,  which  they  always 
wear.  Now  they  say  just  the  contrary,  that  they 
must  have  no  gold,  and  as  little  money  as  possible, 
as  the  Germans  take  everything.  One  didn't 
realise  until  the  war  had  really  lasted  some  time, 
what  a  large  part  lying  and  stealing  play  in  the 
Teuton's  idea  of  a  glorious  and  wonderful  war. 

C.  said  it  was  most  interesting  at  the  bank. 
Quantities  of  people,  a  great  many  guichets  open, 
and  everything  done  quickly  and  with  the  great- 
est order.  One  man  next  to  her,  brought  a  little 
chamois  bag,  out  of  which  he  shook  ten  thousand 
francs  in  gold.  Next  to  him  was  a  boy  with  a 
ten-franc  gold  piece — his  last  e*trenne  (New  Year's 
gift).  A  great  many  women  bringing  twenty  to 
forty  francs.  Everybody  received  notes  in  ex- 
change and  a  ticket: 

BANQUE  DE  FRANCE 

Versement  pour  la  Defense  Nationale 

"La  Banque  de  France  constate  que  Madame 
"Waddington  a  vers6  ce  jour  en  or,  la  somme  de 

" en  6change  de  billets  de  banque.     Le  12 

"juillet  1915." 

We  will  keep  the  ticket  as  a  souvenir  of  the  war. 


26o  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Saturday,  July  ioth,  '15. 

A  nice-looking  young  Belgian  officer  came  to 
see  me  this  morning,  to  collect  some  money  which 
friends  in  America  had  sent  me  for  an  English- 
man who  is  organising  a  field-kitchen  at  the  Bel- 
gian front.  He  says  what  America  has  done  in 
Belgium  is  superb.  Thousands  of  people  would 
have*  starved  to  death  if  America  hadn't  come  to 
the  front  so  liberally.  She  is  now  extending  her 
work  to  the  north  of  France,  where  the  misery  is 
appalling. 

Charlotte  and  I  did  some  shopping  for  Francis 
in  the  afternoon.  He  asked  for  a  big  cake,  iced, 
for  their  14th  July  banquet,  to  be  sent  to  a  Cham- 
pagne merchant  in  whose  house  they  are  living, 
and  who  was  going  down  to  Rheims.  We  made 
him  a  fine  paquet  of  cakes,  cigars,  bonbons,  jam, 
etc.  They  are  so  pleased  at  the  front  to  have  a 
few  douceurs. 

As  we  had  gone  to  Colombin's  for  the  cakes, 
we  stayed  to  tea.  I  hadn't  been  there  since 
last  summer.  There  were  a  few  people,  among 
others  Mrs.  Bacon,  whom  I  was  delighted  to  see 
again;  every  one  liked  them  so  much  when  they 
were  at  the  Embassy  here. 

Tuesday,  July  13  th. 

It  has  poured,  a  regular  downfall  all  day,  but 
we  are  all  delighted  as  the  country  was  drying  up 
for  want  of  rain.  When  I  was  starting  to  meet 
Bessie  Talleyrand,  with  whom  I  had  made  an 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        261 

appointment  to  go  to  the  Italian  Hospital,  H. 
said :  ' '  I  suppose  you  will  take  your  waterproof  ? ' ' 
I  wished  I  could,  but  some  German  Frau  is  prob- 
ably walking  about  very  happily  in  it,  as  all  the 
cloaks  and  rugs  that  were  in  the  hall  at  Mareuil 
were  stolen. 

I  found  Bessie  at  the  Gare  des  Invalides,  Jo- 
sephine with  her,  just  arrived  from  Rome.  Both 
her  sons  are  at  the  front  with  the  Italian  army, 
and  she  has  passed  her  examination  as  nurse,  and 
is  enrolled  at  the  Italian  Red  Cross,  but  there  are 
no  wounded  yet  in  Rome,  so  she  asked  for  a  week's 
leave  to  come  up  and  see  us  all  here. 

We  found  Palma,  Princess  di  Poggio,  Theresa, 
Bessie  and  daughter,  Comtesse  Simeon,  at  the  hos- 
pital, which  is  very  well  arranged — large,  clean 
rooms  opening  on  a  garden.  The  men  looked 
well  cared  for  and  as  comfortable  as  they  could 
be.  One  poor  young  fellow,  with  a  refined  artist's 
face,  a  sculptor,  had  his  leg  off.  Bessie  had  ar- 
ranged to  give  him  an  artificial  leg,  one  of  the 
good  ones,  light  and  articulated,  and  he  was  so 
grateful. 

He  and  two  others  were  in  the  same  room,  all 
moving  about  convalescent.  Two  had  been  at 
the  battle  of  the  Marne,  and  couldn't  say  enough 
about  General  Maunoury,  who  was  in  command. 

My  nephew,  a  colonel  of  dragoons,  said  the 
other  day  the  battle  of  the  Marne  was  a  miracle, 
...  a  miracle  that  saved  Paris. 


262  MY  WAR  DIARY 

We  went  all  over  the  hospital,  ending  at  the  two 
upper  floors  which  the  Duchesse  de  C.  directs  and 
runs  entirely  at  her  own  expense.  The  rooms  are 
quite  beautiful,  high  and  light  and  white;  not  a 
hospital  smell  of  any  kind,  and  even  on  this  dismal 
afternoon  they  looked  bright.  Eight  or  ten  men, 
all  convalescent  (one  with  his  left  arm  ampu- 
tated), were  sitting  at  a  table  in  the  big  window 
at  one  end  of  the  gallery — an  infirmi&re — and 
M.  C,  who  is  devoted  and  so  kind  to  the  men, 
teaching  them  to  make  artificial  flowers  out  of 
mie  de  pain  (bread-crumb).  The  infirmi&re,  who 
turned  out  to  be  Mme.  Boni,  the  famous  danseuse 
from  the  Opera  (Italian-born),  was  dressing  them, 
and  talking  so  easily  and  nicely  to  the  men.  It 
seems  they  all  adore  her,  and  sometimes  she 
dances  for  them. 

It  is  curious  how  all  professions,  dancers,  sing- 
ers, lecturers,  find  work  among  the  soldiers. 

We  had  tea  in  the  officers'  and  infirmieres* 
dining-room — no  one  there  but  ourselves. 

Wednesday,  July  14th. 
Such  a  quiet  f6te ;  no  illuminations,  no  flags,  no 
dancing  in  the  streets  at  the  principal  carrefours. 
There  was  quite  a  display  of  military.  To  mark 
the  day  in  some  way,  they  had  transported  the 
body  of  Rouget  de  Lisle  (author  of  "La  Marseil- 
laise") to  the  Invalides.  A  fine  regiment  of  cui- 
rassiers passed  and  were  wildly  cheered  by  the 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        263 

crowd.  Some  of  the  women  saluted  the  flag  by 
the  military  salute.  It  looked  rather  pretty.  It 
is  difficult  for  the  infirmieres  to  return  the  salute. 
All  the  officers  and  soldiers  salute  an  infirmiere 
in  Red  Cross  uniform,  and  I  think  it  would  be 
pretty  if  all  the  women  could  answer  in  the  same 
way. 

A  great  many  wounded  soldiers  were  walking 
about  the  Champs  Ely  sees,  and  many  people  gave 
them  cigarettes  and  tobacco.  I  was  so  sorry  I 
hadn't  any  with  me.  One  hardly  likes  to  give 
money. 

Friday. 
I  was  at  the  ouvroir  all  the  afternoon.  Pro- 
fessor Hall  with  his  wife  and  daughter  came  in. 
They  are  so  interested  in  France  and  the  war, 
and  appreciate  so  thoroughly  how  splendidly 
France  has  come  out  since  the  war  (nearly  a  year 
now)  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  them. 

Saturday,  July  17th,  '15. 
I  had  a  nice  afternoon  at  Versailles.  C.  met  me 
at  the  station.  We  went  first  to  see  the  rooms  at 
the  hotel,  which  are  charming,  large  and  airy, 
giving  on  the  boulevard  de  la  Reine.  Then  we 
found  the  boys  in  the  park  and  sat  there  for 
some  time.  It  rained  at  intervals,  little  summer 
showers,  but  one  is  completely  sheltered  under  the 
big  trees  or  little  recesses  cut  out  in  the  high,  stiff 


264  MY  WAR  DIARY 

box-hedges.  Soldiers  in  uniform  were  doing  the 
gardening,  clipping,  watering,  etc.  We  had  tea 
at  "At  Home,"  one  of  the  numerous  new  tea 
places  on  the  place  d'Armes,  which  have  devel- 
oped since  two  or  three  years.  Mrs.  Bliss  and 
Mrs.  Hall  came  in.  They  had  been  to  see  a  colony 
of  French  and  Belgian  children,  orphans.  It 
seems  that  there  are  thirty  or  forty  babies  of  two 
years  of  whom  no  one — not  even  the  two  Belgian 
nuns  who  brought  them — knows  anything — neither 
their  names  nor  parents.  They  were  found  in 
cellars  with  a  lot  of  miserable  children. 

Sunday. 

I  went  to  the  Gare  du  Nord  this  morning  to 
send  off  some  packages  to  Soissons,  and  to  ask 
about  some  that  had  been  announced  to  me  from 
England.  (They,  of  course,  hadn't  come.  I 
wonder  who  gets  all  the  packages  that  I  don't.) 

I  wanted,  too,  to  see  the  cantine  where  Char- 
lotte works.  She  was  just  starting  for  the  Eng- 
lish train.  She  is  one  of  the  qu&teuses,  which  is 
rather  hard  work,  as  they  go  into  all  the  carriages, 
just  a  few  minutes  before  the  train  starts,  and 
have  to  scramble  out  in  a  hurry  when  they  are 
told.  Occasionally  the  ladies  don't  get  off  in 
time,  and  are  carried  off  to  the  next  station. 

She  looked  very  nice  in  her  white  dress  and 
coiffe,  and  absurdly  young.  She  has  had  some 
funny  experiences.     She  heard  two  young  men 


JULY  TCLDECEMBER,  1915        265 

saying  in  English:  "We  must  give  ten  francs  to 
that  pretty  girl,"  and  when  she  thanked  them  in 
English,  they  were  much  surprised.  "Oh,  we 
didn't  know  you  were  English,"  and  much  more, 
when  she  said :  "I  am  not  English,  I  am  French  ! " 

She  generally  gets  a  very  good  collecte. 

I  went  over  the  can  tine  with  her  afterward, 
which  is  very  well  arranged.  Two  long  wooden 
tables  spotlessly  clean — and  an  excellent  meal — 
all  served  by  ladies,  who  wipe  the  table  each  time 
a  plate  or  dish  that  has  been  used  is  taken  off. 
At  the  end  of  the  hall  there  are  about  fifty  beds, 
where  the  poor  men  who  are  too  ill  or  too  tired 
to  go  on  can  rest. 

I  talked  to  some  of  the  men.  As  a  rule  they 
looked  well.  Almost  all,  as  they  went  out,  put 
a  sou  in  the  box  that  was  at  the  door,  marked: 
"Pour  les  repas  du  soldat."  I  said  to  our  men: 
"C'est  bien  ca?"  "Oh,  yes,  Madame,  we  have 
had  a  good  meal;  we  must  leave  something  for 
our  comrades  who,  perhaps,  will  need  it  more." 

Versailles,  Monday,  July  19th. 
I  came  out  yesterday  for  Frank's  birthday. 
We  spent  all  the  afternoon  in  the  park,  down  by 
the  canal,  where  there  is  a  very  good  little  res- 
taurant. We  brought  out  the  birthday  cake, 
which  the  patissiere  explained  she  could  not  make 
as  she  would  like,  with  his  name  and  age  in  beau- 
tiful coloured  letters  on  the  white  icing — as  she 


266  MY  WAR  DIARY 

was  so  short  of  hands.  But  she  did  put  a  bow  of 
ribbon  and  a  flower. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  at  the  restau- 
rant, French  and  British  officers  with  pretty,  well- 
dressed  women  under  the  red  umbrellas  which 
made  charming  little  niches  under  the  trees. 

There  were  boats  of  every  description  on  the 
canal,  and  autos  waiting  on  the  road.  All  the 
warriors  are  enjoying  themselves  immensely.  We 
stayed  in  the  park  until  7  o'clock.  There  was 
nothing  but  uniforms  to  be  seen.  The  soldiers 
come  out  from  6  to  8,  and  every  one  had  a  girl 
hanging  on  his  arm.  They  foretell  an  extraor- 
dinary increase  of  population.  I  would  certainly 
prefer.  English  babies  to  German,  if  we  are  to  have 
a  great  infusion  of  foreign  blood. 

The  chateau  looked  beautiful  as  we  walked  up 
to  the  terrace,  all  its  great  facade  of  windows  a 
blaze  of  light  from  the  setting  sun;  and  in  the 
distance,  over  the  trees  and  canal,  that  soft  blue 
mist  that  one  sees  so  often  in  Versailles  at  the  end 
of  the  day. 

As  it  was  a  birthday  we  made  a  great  excep- 
tion and  dined  at  the  Reservoirs.  There  were  a 
good  many  people,  pretty  women  and  officers 
dining.  We  walked  back  to  our  Hotel  Vatel, 
and  it  rather  reminded  me  of  Marienbad — people 
dining  outside  at  all  the  cafes,  and  women  walk- 
ing about  alone,  quite  independent. 

It  is  C.'s  ouvroir  day.     I  am  sorry  to  leave.     It 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        267 

was  so  cool  and  fresh  this  morning,  and  so  resting 
to  the  eyes  after  the  pavement  of  Paris.  Our 
rooms  are  on  the  third  floor,  and  we  look  straight 
into  the  big  trees  of  the  boulevard  de  la  Reine. 

Thursday,  July  29th. 

I  went  with  Agnes  Welsh  this  morning  to  see 
Charlotte  at  the  cantine  of  the  Gare  du  Nord. 
Mr.  Washburn  met  us  there.  He  is  very  keen 
about  everything  connected  with  the  war,  and 
wants  to  see  everything  and  help  where  he  can. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  on  the  quais, 
and  I  left  Agnes  to  look  for  Charlotte  while  I  went 
to  the  cantine  to  see  if  she  was  there.  She  wasn't. 
The  old  man  who  presides  told  me  she  was  making 
her  quete.  The  room  was  full  of  soldiers;  every 
table  taken,  and  there  were  a  great  many  waiting 
outside — all  their  hats  and  rifles  piled  up,  and  on 
each  knapsack  a  big  loaf  of  pain  du  soldat — such 
nice-looking  rye  bread,  pain  de  seigle,  they  call 
it  here.  I  went  back  to  the  quai,  where  I  found 
Charlotte.  She  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
all  the  railway  officials,  who  were  all  smiling  at 
her.  She  still  had  two  more  trains  to  make,  and 
we  waited  on  the  quai. 

The  crowd  was  interesting,  quantities  of  sol- 
diers of  all  kinds — permissionnaires,  who  were  met 
and  embraced  by  wives,  mothers,  and  sisters; 
squads  of  fresh  young  men  starting  off  to  the 
front,  and  melancholy  groups  of  one-armed,  one- 


268  MY  WAR  DIARY 

legged  men,  cheerful  in  spite  of  their  mutilation, 
and  so  proud  still  of  the  uniform.  When  they  are 
finally  out  of  the  hospitals  and  unfit  for  active 
service,  they  must,  of  course,  give  up  the  uniform, 
which  is  a  great  blow  to  them.  Even  those  who 
have  only  worn  it  a  few  months,  who  were  wounded 
early,  hold  to  their  pantalon  rouge.  I  think  the 
Government  must  give  a  badge  or  medal  of  some 
kind  to  the  men  who  were  wounded  in  the  war. 

When  C.  had  finished,  we  went  back  to  the 
cantine,  and  Agnes  gave  medals  and  tobacco  to 
the  soldiers.  There  was  an  interesting  man  there, 
just  from  Arras,  with  one  shoulder  badly  hurt. 
He  had  seen  horrors.  Germans  packed  into  a 
Red  Cross  ambulance,  calling  for  help.  When 
the  French  soldiers  went  forward  to  open  the 
door,  a  mitrailleuse  hidden  inside,  mowed  them 
down  like  grass. 

They  give  the  men  an  excellent  meal:  soup, 
very  good,  a  dish  of  meat  and  vegetables,  cheese, 
fruit,  coffee,  and  wine  or  beer. 

Charlotte  came  back  to  breakfast  and  went  off 
immediately  to  Versailles. 

August  5th. 
We  are  having  beautiful  summer  days,  and 
usually  at  this  season  are  established  either  at  the 
seashore  or  else  at  one  of  our  favorite  summer 
resorts,  at  Marienbad — but  this  year  it  is  difficult 
to  know  where  to  go.    All  the  hotels  at  the  sea- 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        269 

side  are  used  as*  military  ambulances,  or  else  closed 
altogether,  and  besides  we  are  all  so  busy  that  it 
doesn't  seem  right  to  leave  Paris. 

It  isn't  very  warm.  I  go  up  to  the  Bois  some- 
times in  the  morning.  It  is  empty,  a  few  old 
gentlemen  sitting  on  the  benches  reading  the 
papers — nurses  and  children — not  many. 

Warsaw  has  fallen,  but  I  don't  think  it  is  a  very 
brilliant  victory  for  the  Germans.  The  Russians 
stripped  the  town  of  everything  before  leaving, 
and  retreated  in  perfect  order.  I  fancy  we  shall 
hear  no  more  of  the  grand  triumphal  entrance 
the  Kaiser  was  to  make  with  the  Empress,  who 
was  said  to  be  waiting  at  Hindenburg's  head- 
quarters, with  splendid  robes  and  jewels  for  the 
grande  rentree.  .  .  . 

Monday,  August  9th. 

It  has  been  grey  and  warm.  I  went  to  the 
cantine  of  the  Gare  St.  Lazare  after  dinner  to 
get  Charlotte  who  was  de  service  there — had  been 
there  since  4  o'clock.  Both  she  and  Mme.  d'A., 
who  was  working  with  her,  seemed  rather  ex- 
hausted with  the  heat  and  fatigue.  However, 
both  ladies  were  carrying  about  trays  with  bowls 
of  hot  bouillon,  and  huge  pieces  of  bread  and 
sausage. 

They  don't  give  an  entire  hot  meal  at  the  can- 
tine  after  7.30  (dinner),  but  they  have  hot 
bouillon,  coffee,  bread,  cheese  and  cold  meat  at 


270  MY  WAR  DIARY 

night.  The  military  trains  arrive  at  all  hours 
and  always  after  the  appointed  time. 

There  were  quite  a  number  of  soldiers;  some  of 
them  looked  too  tired  to  eat.  Two  young  ones 
with  fever  could  hardly  stand.  They  were  given 
beds  to  have  a  good  rest  for  their  early  start  the 
next  morning. 

They  have  ten  beds  and  a  bath  in  a  room  along- 
side of  the  dining-room.  An  infirmiere  is  always 
there,  day  and  night.  The  cantine  is  supported 
by  the  quotes  (collections)  the  ladies  make  in  the 
trains.  They  go  in  couples  to  all  the  outgoing 
trains,  at  the  last  moment,  when  the  passengers 
are  all  seated.  Madeleine  got  twenty  francs  the, 
other  day  from  a  lady  in  the  English  train,  who 
was  very  frightened  and  nervous  about  the  cross- 
ing, and  hoped  the  louis  would  bring  her  good 
luck  with  all  the  mines  and  submarines. 

It  certainly  isn't  a  pleasant  moment  to  cross 
the  Channel  with  the  danger  of  being  sunk — and 
always  the  interminable  waits  at  the  douane  and 
passport  bureaux. 

All  the  service  at  the  cantine  is  voluntary. 
No  one  is  paid  except  the  cook  and  a  boy  who 
washes  the  dishes.  They  give  a  very  good  meal 
— soup,  meat,  vegetables,  cheese,  as  much  bread 
as  they  like,  and  beer,  wine,  or  coffee — whichever 
they  prefer,  all  gratis,  of  course.  The  meals  cost 
the  cantine  fifty  centimes  a  head.  I  can't  imagine 
how  they  can  do  it  so  cheaply,  but  Mme.  de  B., 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,   1915        271 

who  runs  it,  is  an  excellent  manager.  She  is  there 
every  day,  sometimes  twice  a  day. 

The  qu&te  entirely  covers  the  expenses,  in  fact 
more  than  covers  them,  as  they  have  a  fair  sum 
in  reserve. 

I  stood  at  the  door  some  little  time,  watching 
the  crowd  of  soldiers  of  all  arms,  ages,  and  colours. 
There  were  some  Senegalese,  black  as  ink,  and 
yellow  Moroccans  who  passed.  Many  looked 
wistfully  at  the  open  door  and  the  two  long 
tables  filled  with  soldiers,  and  all  were  told  to 
come  in.  They  deposited  their  kits  outside,  wait- 
ing their  turn  and  were  so  pleased  to  talk  a  little 
and  smoke  a  cigarette.  I  had  a  provision  with 
me.  They  respond  instantly  to  any  mark  of 
interest.  Even  the  black  S£n6galais  who  couldn't 
speak  French,  broke  into  a  broad  smile  when  C. 
appeared  in  her  infirmi&re  dress,  and  said:  "Merci, 
ma  sceur;  moi  manger !"  So  she  installed  him 
at  one  of  the  tables  and  brought  him  his  soup. 

We  came  away  about  10.30;  soldiers  were  still 
coming.  The  infirmiere  in  the  medical  room  and 
her  two  young  fellows  were  asleep — couldn't  eat 
anything,  but  they  would  have  a  good  breakfast 
in  the  morning. 

I  left  C.  at  her  hotel,  where  she  had  some  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  in.  The  staff  of  servants  is 
considerably  reduced.  The  hall  porter  is  a  child 
twelve  years  old,  who  naturally  was  fast  asleep  in 
a  big  chair,  and  didn't  hear  anything. 


272  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Saturday,  August  14th. 

I  went  down  again  to  Mareuil  for  twenty-four 
hours  on  Thursday.  We  still  have  French  sol- 
diers in  the  house,  some  of  the  officers  very  ex- 
acting; and  Mme.  G.  felt  unable  to  cope  with 
them. 

It  was  dark  when  we  arrived,  at  9  o'clock,  and 
we  had  to  grope  our  way  across  the  track  and 
into  the  little  salle,  where  every  one  was  obliged 
to  show  their  sauf-conduits ;  eight  or  ten  unfortu- 
nate people  were  not  en  regie,  hadn't  the  necessary- 
papers  and  were  sadly  preparing  to  spend  the 
night  at  the  station  in  the  dark.  One  woman, 
well  dressed  and  speaking  in  an  educated  voice, 
came  to  ask  me  if  I  was  also  kept,  and  did  I  know 
Mareuil;  was  there  any  hotel  or  auberge  of  any- 
kind  where  she  could  go  for  the  night.  Mme.  G., 
who  had  come  to  meet  us  with  her  lantern,  said 
she  thought  there  were  good  clean  rooms  at  the 
only  hotel  in  the  village.  We  all  walked  off  to- 
gether in  the  dark,  and  the  poor  woman  looked 
so  forlorn,  I  told  her  she  had  much  better  stop 
at  my  house.  I  could  give  her  a  bed  and  a  meal. 
She  was  very  shy,  and  when  I  named  myself, 
that  seemed  to  make  matters  worse.  She  couldn't 
think  of  intruding.  I  insisted  a  little,  but  she 
evidently  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  to  come. 
I  couldn't  see  her  very  well  in  the  dark,  but  I 
think  she  was  a  boutiquiere  of  a  good  class,  or 
the  wife  of  a  small  farmer.     Her  voice  and  Ian- 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915         273 

guage  were  perfectly  good,  like  so  many  women 
of  that  class,  who  express  themselves  well  and  have 
very  good  manners. 

One  of  the  railway  men  was  walking  behind  us, 
so  I  told  him  to  take  the  lady  to  the  hotel  and  see 
that  she  got  a  good  room.  We  parted  at  our 
gate.  I  told  her  if  she  couldn't  find  a  decent 
room,  to  come  back,  but  she  didn't,  and  I  suppose 
found  what  she  wanted. 

I  found  no  officers  at  the  house  except  a  cor- 
poral de  gendarmerie  who  is  always  there,  and 
whom  we  are  glad  to  have,  as  it  is  a  certain  pro- 
tection. 

Mme.  G.  was  very  eloquent  over  her  last  band 
of  soldiers:  the  officer  most  disagreeable,  wanting 
to  make  various  changes  in  the  room — among 
other  things,  to  knock  down  a  cloison  (partition). 
When  she  protested,  he  answered:  "C'est  la 
guerre !  Mme.  Waddington  a  bien  donn6  sa 
maison  aux  Allemands;  elle  ne  peut  pas  la  refuser 
aux  Francais!"  "Donn6"  is  perhaps  not  ex- 
actly the  term  to  use,  as  the  Germans  took  forci- 
ble possession  of  an  empty  house. 

Naturally,  I  shouldn't  dream  of  refusing  the 
house  to  French  soldiers,  and  wouldn't  want  to ! 

Francis  is  very  comfortably  lodged  in  a  small 
chateau  with  a  good  library  and  plenty  of  books, 
and  a  large  airy  room. 

However,  that  unwelcome  officer  didn't  stay 
very  long,  though  he  told  Mme.  G.  the  place 


274  MY  WAR  DIARY 

suited  him,  and  he  should  stay  a  month;  but  he 
was  sent  on  after  two  or  three  days. 

The  cure  came  to  dinner,  and  we  sat  out  after- 
ward. I  tried  not  to  see  the  potatoes  and  only 
smell  the  roses,  which  are  beautiful.  I  have  never 
seen  them  so  lovely,  climbing  ones,  of  course. 
The  whole  side  of  the  house  is  covered  with  such 
lovely  white  roses,  but  only  the  climbers.  All 
the  flower-beds  were  trampled  over  by  the  Ger- 
man horses,  also  the  herbaceous  border  around 
the  boys'  lawn. 

I  told  Mme.  G.  to  lock  certain  rooms,  and  left 
a  note  for  the  mayor,  who  didn't  come  to  see  me, 
asking  him  to  insist  upon  the  soldiers  occupying 
only  the  rooms  I  indicated  in  the  old  house. 

We  heard  the  cannon  distinctly  all  the  after- 
noon. The  cure  says  the  passage  of  the  troops 
is  awfully  hard  on  the  poor  people,  as  they  carry 
off  everything — blankets,  mattresses,  etc.  Of 
course  one  can  understand  the  poor  fellows,  cold 
and  wet,  not  being  able  to  resist  taking  a  blanket 
when  they  can  get  one.  And  I  imagine  all  sol- 
diers do  the  same,  but  it  is  awfully  hard  on  the 
village  people,  who  have  not  yet  replaced  all  the 
Germans  took.  Many  of  them  are  still  sleeping 
on  straw,  covered  with  sacks. 

He  says,  too,  that  the  troops  of  refugees  are 
melancholy.  The  big  salle  at  the  mairie  is  never 
empty.  They  put  down  fresh  straw  every  day, 
and  the  village  takes  bread  and  milk  to  the  un- 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        275 

fortunate  women  and  children,  who  rest  a  day 
or  two,  then  start  off  on  their  long,  weary  tramp 
to  find  homes  that  have  ceased  to  exist. 


Paris,  August  18th  (Wednesday). 

I  was  at  the  ouvroir  early,  then  stopped  to  see 
Charlotte,  who  was  starting  for  the  Gare  de  l'Est 
with  the  boys  and  a  camp-stool,  to  meet  Francis. 
The  train  was  due  at  6,  but  there  was  sure  to  be 
a  delay.  She  had  already  been  there  Tuesday, 
thinking  he  might  perhaps  come,  and  said  it  was 
interesting  to  see  the  long  file  of  women — mothers, 
wives,  and  children,  waiting  for  their  men.  The 
line  stretched  out  nearly  across  the  great  court- 
yard; some  had  brought  camp-stools,  but  most 
of  them  sat  on  the  ground.  She  said  it  was  pretty 
to  see  how  each  permissionnaire  was  welcomed  as 
he  arrived,  his  whole  family  embracing  him, 
children  clinging  to  his  coat-tails,  and  carrying 
his  bag. 

Our  soldier  got  here  about  8.30,  looking  very 
well  and  gay,  so  pleased  to  be  with  us  all  again. 

Mme.  Sallandrouze  and  Madeleine  dined,  and 
we  were  a  very  happy  family  party. 

He  wears  his  uniform  very  well,  quite  as  if  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  it  all  his  life.  The  boys 
couldn't  keep  off  of  him.  They  all  went  off  early, 
as  he  had  had  a  long  night's  journey.  He  stays 
until  next  Wednesday,  a  short  week;  but  one  is 
grateful  for  very  small  favours  in  war-time,  and  it 


276  MY  WAR  DIARY 

is  everything  to  have  him  back,  well  and  gay, 
and  confident  that  things  are  going  well  with  us. 


Thursday,  August  19th,  '15. 

We  all  lunched  with  Mme.  Sallandrouze,  who 
was  delighted  to  have  her  two  military  menages, 
as  the  R.'s  are  here  too.  He  is  on  sick  leave, 
having  had  trouble  with  his  heart.  Both  men 
were  most  cheerful,  telling  us  all  sorts  of  experi- 
ences. 

Francis  went  off  directly  after  luncheon  with 
Charlotte,  to  order  himself  shirts  and  a  new  tunic. 
I  insisted  on  the  whole  party  coming  to  have  tea 
with  me  at  Laurent's  in  the  Champs  Elysees. 

I  met  Norah  G.,  who  wanted  very  much  to  see 
Francis,  and  told  her  to  come  too,  and  we  had  a 
very  pleasant  afternoon,  sitting  under  the  trees 
— the  two  men  making  quite  a  pretty  bit  of  colour 
in  their  bleu  horizon.  Every  garcon  in  the  place 
was  around  our  table,  fascinated  by  the  stories 
both  men  were  telling. 

Francis,  Charlotte  and  the  boys  dined  with  us, 
and  he  played  a  little  after  dinner.  It  seemed 
quite  the  old  times,  except  for  the  talk  and  the 
change  in  him.  He  has  grown  older,  graver,  with 
a  curious  steady  look  in  his  eyes.  The  conversa- 
tion was  exclusively  war.  He  said  such  curious 
things  happened  with  so  many  men  of  all  kinds 
serving  in  the  ranks,  particularly  in  the  Terri- 
torials.    His  commandant   (major)   said  to  him 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        277 

one  day  that  he  had  just  done  such  a  stupid 
thing.  He  was  superintending  the  unloading  of 
a  camion  filled  with  heavy  rough  planks.  He 
thought  some  of  the  soldiers  were  slow,  lazy,  and 
called  out  to  them  rather  sharply:  "Voyons, 
voyons,  il  faut  que  cela  finisse;  un  peu  plus 
d'energie!"  Still  there  were  one  or  two  who 
seemed  awkward,  didn't  know  how  to  handle  the 
heavy  planks,  one  particularly,  a  man  about 
thirty -five  years  old.  Finally  he  apostrophised 
him  directly,  saying:  "Don't  you  know  how  to 
work?  You  look  strong  enough  !  What  did  you 
do  before  the  war?"  "Mon  Commandant,  I  was 
professeur  au  College  de  France." 

One  of  Francis'  comrades,  who  ranks  him,  is 
the  son  of  a  well-known  big  Paris  grocer,  like 
Potin — a  very  nice  fellow.  They  were  very  good 
friends.  One  day  he  came  in  looking  rather 
glum,  didn't  seem  disposed  to  talk.  Francis 
couldn't  understand  what  the  matter  was.  At 
last  the  young  fellow  said:  "I  hear  you  are  the 
cousin  of  the  smart  Colonel  of  Cuirassiers  who 
was  stationed  here,  with  the  same  name. "  "Yes, 
he  is  my  first  cousin."  "Oh,  I  hear,  too,  that 
you  are  the  son  of  an  Ambassador!"  "Yes,  my 
father  was  ten  years  Ambassador  in  London." 
Still  silence;  then:  "I  suppose  that  after  the  war 
you  won't  want  to  see  me  any  more;  we  shall 
never  meet;  you  won't  know  me."  "That  is  not 
at  all  nice  of  you  to  say.     I  shall  always  be  de- 


278  MY  WAR  DIARY 

lighted  to  see  you,  and  after  the  war  is  over,  if 
we  both  come  out  of  it,  I  hope  you  will  come  to 
see  me  often,  and  we  will  talk  over  war-times  and 
life  in  the  trenches,  and  all  the  days  of  close 
camaraderie  we  spent  together."  He  was  rather 
mollified,  but  it  was  some  time  before  he  could 
quite  get  back  to  the  old  footing. 

Sunday,  August  22nd,  '15. 

To-day  was  lovely,  a  bright  sun,  but  cool.  Fran- 
cis, Charlotte,  and  the  Tiffanys  dined.  Francis 
had  been  to  the  club  where  his  friends  (the  old 
gentlemen)  were  delighted  to  see  him.  There  are 
no  young  ones  left  in  town,  and  the  embusques 
who  work  at  the  Ministeres  or  Etat-Major  don't 
show  themselves  at  the  club. 

We  had  very  good  champagne  which  Francis' 
friends  had  sent  for  him  to  drink  while  he  was 
en  permission.  When  he  is  at  Rheims  he  lives 
with  these  Champagne  people,  who  are  devoted 
to  him.  Madame,  who  has  had  six  sons,  took 
care  of  him  when  he  was  ill. 

We  drank  "France,  et  les  Allies"  standing,  and 
sang  all  the  national  airs  after  dinner.  We  tried 
to  be  gay,  but  with  such  heavy  hearts,  not  daring 
to  face  the  future. 

Tuesday,  August  24th,  '15. 
It  has  been  warm  all  day.     Francis  came  up  to 
Charlotte's  ouvroir  for  the  vallee  de  lAisne.     He 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        279 

was  much  pleased  at  the  way  she  had  managed 
the  thing,  and  decidedly  impressed  with  all  the 
trunks  and  wardrobes  full  of  clothes. 

The  Welshes  came  to  dinner  for  his  last  evening 
and  were  so  interested  in  all  he  told  them.  The 
two  boys  are  on  his  back  all  day,  and  Charlotte 
looks  radiant,  her  eyes  like  stars. 

Wednesday,  August  25th,  '15. 
I  went  to  the  hotel  before  breakfast  to  see  if 
Francis  had  all  he  wanted,  and  to  decide  upon  a 
small  apartment  for  Charlotte,  and  another  school 
for  the  boys.  They  came  to  breakfast,  then  went 
off  for  last  commissions.  Everybody  gave  him 
things — a  pipe,  cigars,  two  bottles  of  old  brandy, 
books,  kodak.  He  went  off  at  5.  Charlotte  went 
with  him  to  the  station.  I  took  the  boys  for  a 
turn  in  the  Bois.  They  were  rather  tearful  when 
he  bade  them  good-bye  and  told  them  they  were 
big  boys  now,  and  must  take  care  of  their  mother 
and  "Danny."  For  me  there  was  nothing  more 
to  do,  only  a  kiss  and  "God  bless  you,  Mother!" 
and  he  was  gone.  The  partings  are  hard  when 
the  last  moment  really  comes. 

Saturday,  August  28th,  '15. 

Charlotte  said  that  the  scene  at  the  Gare  de 

l'Est  on  Wednesday  night,  when  Francis  left,  was 

wonderful.     Hundreds    of    women    and    children 

saying  good-bye  to  their  sons  and  husbands,  and 


280  MY  WAR  DIARY 

all  so  courageous,  smiling,  and  making  all  sorts 
of  plans  for  apres  la  guerre;  not  a  tear,  as  long  as 
the  train  was  there.  When  it  moved  off,  the  sol- 
diers cheering  and  singing,  and  all  the  people  on 
the  quais  cheering,  some  of  them  broke  down. 

I  always  think  of  the  poor  little  girl  in  the  first 
days  of  the  mobilisation,  trying  to  be  brave,  when 
the  gars  told  her  not  to  cry :  ' '  Nous  reviendrons ! " 
— looking  up  at  me  through  her  tears:  "Tous  ne 
reviendront  pas,  Madame !" 

We  are  all  delighted  with  the  Russian  naval 
victory  at  Riga;  it  seems  as  if  the  tide  was  turn- 
ing. The  Germans  may  find  a  winter  campaign 
in  Russia  as  fatal  as  Napoleon  did. 

We  have  just  heard  of  d'Agoult's  death — such 
a  charming  fellow.  He  was  for  some  time  naval 
attache  at  London  with  us,  and  we  liked  him  and 
his  wife  both  so  much.  They  have  had  so  much 
trouble,  have  lost  three  sons. 

Friday,  September  3rd,  '15. 

A  letter  from  Francis  to-day,  saying  the  order 
has  come  from  General  Headquarters  for  him  to 
pass  his  examination  of  Interpreter  at  last;  that 
looks  as  if  he  would  be  named.  He  is  so  anxious 
for  it,  is  tired  of  carrying  despatches.  I  wonder 
where  he  will  go. 

It  has  been  very  cool  to-day.  Some  people  had 
fires. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        281 

Saturday,  September  4th,  '15. 

It  is  still  cold  to-day.  I  went  late  to  see  Com- 
tesse  d'Agoult.  Poor  thing,  she  looks  miserable; 
heard  the  news  from  a  friend  of  d'Agoult 's,  a 
naval  officer  sent  from  the  Ministere  de  la  Marine, 
to  tell  her.  She  thought  he  had  come  to  see  her 
about  a  bicycle,  welcomed  him  most  cheerfully 
until  she  saw  his  face.  "Madame,  I  have  not 
come  to  speak  to  you  about  the  bicycle.  I  have 
bad  news  for  you.  M.  d'Agoult  is  wounded, 
severely  wounded."  She  said  his  face  told  her 
the  truth.  She  merely  asked:  "When  was  he 
killed?"  "How?"  "By  a  shell."  "He  died 
in  two  hours;  never  regained  consciousness." 

It  was  a  melancholy  visit.  We  went  back  to 
the  old  days  when  he  was  naval  attache  in  London, 
and  we  were  all  so  fond  of  him.  They  had  a  fine 
little  family,  three  boys  and  one  girl.  All  the 
boys  are  dead,  and  now  he,  the  last  of  his  name. 
He  needn't  have  gone  to  the  front,  was  over  fifty; 
but  he  said  he  had  no  sons  to  fight  for  France; 
he  must  go  himself. 

As  I  was  walking  across  the  bridge  I  met  Mrs. 
Watson,  who  picked  me  up  and  we  went  for  a 
turn  to  the  lakes.  The  Bois  was  almost  deserted ; 
but  the  Champs  Elysees  looked  fairly  alive  with 
some  lights  in  the  avenue  and  the  various  hos- 
pitals. 

I  hope  Charlotte  and  the  boys  are  enjoying  the 
seashore.     The   children   have   been   so  long   in 


282  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Paris  and  were  pining  for  a  beach  where  they 
could  run  all  da}r,  and  not  be  told  all  the  time 
not  to  make  a  noise  and  break  furniture  and 
gallop  over  people's  heads  in  a  hotel.  Town  is  no 
place  for  strong,  cheerful  boys,  country-bred. 

Sunday,  September  5th. 
A  beautiful  warm  day.  I  went  with  Bessie  to 
Bagatelle  to  see  the  Russian  Field-Ambulance  they 
have  just  sent  to  France,  and  which  starts  for  the 
front  to-morrow  morning.  It  looked  most  com- 
plete— the  operating-room  on  wheels.  There  were 
a  great  many  people  there,  in  fact  all  over  the 
Bois,  and  uniforms  and  languages  of  every  de- 
scription. 

Wednesday,  September  8th. 
The  days  are  so  exactly  alike  that  one  loses  all 
count  of  time.  Many  of  the  Americans  here  are 
very  hard  on  Wilson  and  the  ridiculous  position 
in  which  he  has  placed  the  country:  "America, 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  world  !"  I  should  think 
D.  must  go  (and  Bernstorff  long  ago) !  When  one 
remembers  how  Sackville-West  was  given  his 
passports  for  so  much  less  important  reasons ! 

Friday,  September  10th. 
Still  lovely  warm  weather.     We  had  a  great 
many  soldiers  and  soldiers'  wives  at  the  ouvroir 
to-day.     Some  of  the  women  look  so  absolutely 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        283 

miserable.  All  want  work,  but  we  can't  give  to 
all.  Our  funds  are  getting  exhausted.  The  ou- 
vroir  has  been  working  since  the  beginning  of  the 
war  (August,  19 14).  People  have  been  most 
generous.  There  was  a  magnificent  elan  at  first, 
but  of  course  no  one  thought  the  war  would  last 
so  long.  The  Kaiser  said  he  should  sleep  in  Paris 
on  the  2 1  st  August,  1 9 1 4.  Apparently  he  changed 
his  mind !  .  .  . 

Tuesday,  September  14th. 

There  is  no  especial  war  news.  The  Russians 
seem  doing  better.  We  see  a  good  many  people 
at  the  ouvroir,  but  no  one  really  knows  anything 
of  what  is  going  on. 

I  have  decided  to  go  to  Petites  Dalles  for  ten 
days.  Outrey  will  take  me  down.  He  told  me 
I  could  not  go  with  an  ordinary  sauf-conduit,  as 
it  was  a  watering-place  on  the  coast,  and  the 
whole  coast  was  infested  with  spies.  I  must  have 
two  witnesses  to  say  they  know  all  about  me, 
and  to  certify  that  I  was  a  respectable  woman, 
not  a  femme  16gere !  He  could  be  one  witness, 
and  I  asked  my  friend  the  restaurateur  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  to  be  the  other.  He  looked 
so  respectable  and  well-dressed  when  I  picked  him 
up  at  the  cafe,  and  was  beaming  at  the  idea  of 
testifying  to  the  respectability  of  "Son  Excellence 
Madame  rAmbassadrice." 

The   Commissaire   de   Police   knows   me   per- 


284  MY  WAR  DIARY 

fectly  well,  as  I  have  to  get  a  sauf-conduit  every 
time  I  go  down  to  Mareuil.  The  officer  looked  at 
all  my  papers,  then  remarked:  "Madame,  you 
are  not  a  Frenchwoman  born !"  "Monsieur,  you 
can  see  that  on  my  certificat  de  mariage. ' '  '  'Were 
my  American  parents  living?"  Then:  "How 
tall  are  you?"  "I  should  think  you  could  see 
that  as  I  am  standing  before  you."  But  it  wasn't 
enough.  I  had  to  stand  up  under  a  measuring- 
board  (like  a  criminal),  and  he  took  down  my  exact 
height.  It  was  really  too  stupid.  But  all  French 
people  love  red  tape,  and  the  smaller  officials  revel 
in  their  authority. 

My  two  witnesses  were  also  subjected  to  a  strict 
examination,  though  their  papers  were  en  regie. 

I  had  an  interesting  visit  after  breakfast  from 
a  Chicago  man,  Mr.  K.,  a  friend  of  Ambassador 
Herrick,  who  gave  him  a  letter  to  me.  As  it  was 
my  day  at  the  ouvroir,  I  was  obliged  to  go  out  at 
once,  and  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  come 
with  me  and  see  our  work.  He  was  interested  in 
all  he  saw,  and  promised  to  try  and  help  us  when 
he  got  back  to  America.  It  was  quite  interesting 
to  hear  an  impartial,  intelligent  American  man 
discuss  the  war.  Some  of  the  Americans  here, 
particularly  the  women,  are  quite  hysterical  when 
they  talk  about  Wilson's  policy,  and  war  in  the 
United  States  between  Americans  and  Germans; 
they  say  they  are  ashamed  of  being  Americans. 
He  laughed   at   the   idea  of  any   revolution   in 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        285 

America;  said  the  Germans  talked  very  senti- 
mentally about  their  Kaiser  and  their  "  Vaterland," 
but  that,  if  it  came  to  the  point,  not  one  of  them 
would  leave  their  good  solid  business,  bankers 
and  brewers,  and  throw  in  their  lot  with  Germany. 

Petites  Dalles,  September  23rd. 

We  have  had  some  lovely  bright  summer  days 
in  this  pretty  little  Norman  village.  It  consists 
of  one  street  running  down  to  the  beach,  a  small 
stretch  of  galets  (pebbles),  very  little  sand,  and 
shut  in  by  high  cliffs  at  each  side.  There  are  a 
few  shops  and  houses  in  the  street,  but  most  peo- 
ple take  one  of  the  villas  on  the  cliff,  or  else  a 
little  back  in  the  country,  which  is  lovely — broad 
roads  with  splendid  old  trees. 

There  is  a  hotel  on  the  beach  which  has  been 
turned  into  a  hospital.  No  one  in  it  now,  but 
they  are  expecting  wounded  and  refugees  every 
day.  The  other  hotel,  where  we  are,  is  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  beach,  up  a  hill,  has  a  nice  ter- 
race where  we  sit  and  have  our  coffee  after  lunch, 
and  get  a  view  of  the  sea. 

It  was  curious  to  be  in  a  place  where  there  was 
no  sign  of  war;  no  sick  or  wounded  soldiers,  no 
Red  Cross  flags  anywhere,  no  nurses  in  uniform, 
no  men  except  old  ones,  quantities  of  nurses  and 
children.  The  only  thing  that  made  one  think 
of  war  was  the  crowd  of  people  (the  whole  village) 
waiting  at  the  little  fruit-stall  for  the  papers,  ev- 


286  MY  WAR  DIARY 

erybody  talking  to  his  neighbour  and  discussing 
the  communiques. 

There  is  no  especial  news  these  days;  the  Rus- 
sians have  evacuated  Vilna — always  the  same 
tactics — removing  everything  of  value  and  re- 
treating in  good  order. 

Bulgaria  is  inquietante;  she  is  mobilising,  and 
no  one  knows  what  that  crafty  Ferdinand  means 
to  do.  It  all  seemed  unreal  when  we  were  talking 
on  the  beach,  watching  the  sun  dip  down  into  the 
sea,  and  the  lovely  sunset  clouds  that  threw  a 
soft,  beautiful  light  over  everything. 

The  weather  got  much  cooler  about  the  end  of 
the  month,  and  we  were  glad  to  leave.  We  were 
the  only  people  left  in  the  hotel.  The  big  dining- 
room  looked  forlorn  with  no  table  but  ours. 

We  had  a  beautiful  day  to  leave — a  big  omni- 
bus with  three  Norman  posters  with  high  red 
collars  and  bells  came  over  from  Ivetot  to  get  us. 
We  went  through  lovely  country,  sometimes 
passing  chateaux  with  great  wide  avenues  with 
the  double  border  of  trees  one  sees  so  often  in 
Normandy;  sometimes  little  farmhouses,  with 
gardens  and  orchards,  a  few  cows  grazing  placidly 
in  the  fields.  Scarcely  any  horses  and  no  men. 
Everywhere  the  women  were  working  in  the  fields. 

Our  horses  took  us  at  a  very  good  pace,  trotted 
steadily  up  and  down  hill,  so  that  we  really  made 
our  journey  quite  rapidly.  It  was  a  pleasant 
change  to  be  in  a  horse-vehicle,  and  not  to  dash 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        287 

through  everything  in  clouds  of  dust  in  a  motor- 
car. 

At  Ivetot  there  was  a  complete  change.  The 
little  town  and  the  station  were  filled  with  sol- 
diers, "Tommies,"  most  of  them  evidently  fresh 
arrivals,  their  uniforms  quite  smart  and  new, 
showing  no  signs  of  campaign. 

There  were  several  pretty  young  English  nurses, 
evidently  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  warriors. 

While  we  were  waiting  on  the  platform  for  the 
Paris  Express,  a  train  drew  in  with  German  pris- 
oners. We  saw  the  officers  quite  distinctly,  in  a 
lighted  carriage,  smoking  and  playing  cards. 
The  men  were  in  luggage-trucks.  No  one  said 
anything  or  made  any  hostile  demonstrations  of 
any  kind — except  a  few  of  the  soldier  railway  por- 
ters, who  scowled  (so  did  the  Germans) ,  and  mut- 
tered "Sales  Boches!"  under  their  breath. 

Sunday,  October  3rd,  191 5. 
A  lovely  warm  day.  I  walked  up  to  the  avenue 
Malakoff  after  lunch,  to  see  Mme.  de  Laumont, 
whose  husband  and  son  were  buried  yesterday 
(at  least  the  husband  was) ;  the  boy,  twenty-four, 
killed  in  action,  was  buried  where  he  fell.  They 
had  got  with  difficulty  a  permis  for  the  son  to 
come  to  Paris  for  forty-eight  hours  to  go  to  his 
father's  funeral.  When  the  estafette  arrived  with 
the  permission,  the  boy  was  killed.  He  wrote  a 
charming  letter  to  his  sister,  just  before  the  attack, 


288  MY  WAR  DIARY 

saying,  "If  this  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  dead.  We 
attack  to-morrow  morning.  I  am  in  the  first 
line,"  and  telling  her  to  do  all  she  could  for  his 
mother  and  father.     The  father  was  already  dead. 

I  didn't  see  Mme.  de  Laumont,  but  her  mother, 
who  adored  her  grandson.  Mme.  de  Laumont 
had  gone  to  see  a  friend,  Mme.  de  P.,  whose  son, 
eighteen  years  old,  has  also  been  killed.  Is  this 
cruel  war  going  to  take  all  our  loved  ones  away? 

We  had  a  good  many  visitors  at  tea-time.  No 
especial  news;  Russians  holding  on  well. 

Tuesday,  October  5th,  '15. 

I  had  an  interesting  morning  which  changed 
my  ideas  a  little.  They  revolve  in  a  circle — the 
men  at  the  front  and  the  work  of  the  ouvroir.  I 
seem  always  to  be  calculating  how  many  shirts, 
how  many  caleQons,  two-thousand  metres  of  flan- 
nel will  make,  and  how  and  where  to  get  the  wool- 
len stuffs.  Everything  has  more  than  doubled  in 
price,  and  besides,  the  Government  buys  every- 
thing for  the  army. 

I  went  with  Mr.  B.,  a  charming  American  who 
knows  Paris  well  (and  all  the  rest  of  the  world — has 
been  everywhere),  to  see  a  little  bit  of  old  Paris. 
The  rue  de  l'Ancienne  Com6die,  the  famous  Cafe 
Procope,  where  Voltaire,  Mirabeau,  and  dozens 
of  other  well-known  writers  and  grands  politiques 
used  to  meet  and  discuss  questions  and  proclaim 
theories  which  inflamed  the  minds  of  the  young 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        289 

generation  and  upset  the  civilised  world.  We 
went  into  a  little  back  room  and  saw  the  painted 
ceilings,  and  the  Voltaire  and  Mirabeau  tables. 
We  really  had  a  delightful  hour  in  the  past, 
standing  under  an  archway  where  Danton,  Marat, 
Desmoulins,  and  Charlotte  Corday  had  passed, 
with  hearts  beating  high  with  patriotism  and 
ambition,  scarcely  realising  the  power  that  was 
in  their  hands. 

We  walked  through  the  cour  de  Rohan,  a 
beautiful  little  square,  very  old-fashioned  court 
with  wonderful  doorways  and  iron  gratings.  One 
could  hardly  believe  one  was  in  modern  Paris  with 
the  busy,  crowded  boulevard  St.  Germain  five 
minutes  off. 

We  lunched  at  the  Palais  de  Justice.  I  was  the 
only  woman,  and  it  was  interesting  to  see  all  the 
avocats  coming  in  with  their  gowns  and  square 
caps.  The  caf6  was  lower  than  the  street,  and  we 
walked  up  the  three  broad  worn  steps  that  Marie 
Antoinette  walked  up  to  get  into  the  fatal  tum- 
brel that  carried  her  to  the  scaffold.  I  don't  know 
why,  but  the  old,  worn  stone  steps  say  so  much 
to  me.  I  seem  to  see  the  thousands  of  weary  feet 
that  have  tramped  over  them. 

Wednesday,  October  6th. 
I  was  at  the  ouvroir  all  the  afternoon.     We 
didn't  have  as  many  soldiers  as  usual,  and  only 
a  few  visitors.     One  lady  had  been  to  St.  Sulpice, 


290  MY  WAR  DIARY 

where  there  is  an  enormous  colony  of  refugees, 
French  and  Belgian — all  most  comfortably  in- 
stalled. Where  there  are  families,  they  have  two 
rooms  and  can  do  their  own  cooking  and  washing. 
The  nuns  look  after  them  and  beg  for  clothes — no 
matter  what  kind;  they  can  always  disinfect  and 
clean,  mend  and  find  good  pieces  in  any  quite 
worn  garments.  It  seems  that  some  of  the  chil- 
dren's frocks  are  a  curiosity,  all  patchwork. 
They  get  a  great  deal  as  we  all  send  them  things 
that  we  can't  use.  I  have  had  one  or  two  cases 
of  old  clothes  that  I  had  unpacked  in  the  court- 
yard, and  even  then  the  smell  was  something  awful. 

Mme.  W.  arrived  there  just  as  a  large  party 
was  being  sent  off  to  the  country.  She  said  it  was 
a  wonderful  sight.  They  were  dressed  evidently 
in  all  the  second-hand  garments  that  had  been 
given  to  them.  Some  of  the  men  had  top  hats 
and  dress  coats  and  redingotes  of  black  broad- 
cloth— poor  things ! 

We  are  sending  troops  to  Salonica,  which  seems 
rather  hard  with  so  many  Germans  still  in  France. 
It  is  extraordinary  how  the  Balkan  states  embroil 
the  whole  of  Europe. 

Friday,  October  8th. 

We  are  all  much  delighted  with  the  first  result 
of  the  Allies'  offensive,  but  a  little  nervous  over 
Bulgaria.  I  wonder  if  Ferdinand  really  believes 
in  Germany's  promises  and  the  readiness  with 
which  she  disposes  of  other  nations'  property. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915         291 

Sunday,  October  10th. 
Our  visitors  to-day  were  rather  blue  over  the 
Bulgarian  attitude.  The  Due  de  L.  and  Sir  H.  L. 
very  nervous,  say  there  is  no  use  of  sending  a 
small  force  .  .  .  that  was  the  mistake  of  the  Dar- 
danelles; and  yet  the  Allies,  if  they  mean  to  fol- 
low up  their  dash  at  the  German  trenches,  can't 
weaken  their  front  in  France. 

Monday,  October  nth. 

I  lunched  with  Comtesse  D.  at  Ritz,  where  there 
were  quite  a  number  of  people.  We  heard  of 
Casteya's  death — severely  wounded  and  died  in 
the  hospital — another  of  Francis'  friends,  one  of 
those  who  danced  at  the  house.  He  leaves  a 
young  wife  and  child. 

The  loss  of  young  lives  is  something  awful,  and 
for  what  ?  There  must  come  a  heavy  reckoning 
some  day  to  the  Kaiser,  but  that  won't  give  us 
back  all  those  who  are  gone ! 

After  lunch  we  went  to  see  the  German  cannon 
at  the  Invalides.  There  were  quantities  of  peo- 
ple, many  soldiers  of  all  grades.  To  the  uniniti- 
ated, one  cannon  looks  very  like  another,  but  they 
all  showed  traces  of  battle.  Some  of  the  air- 
guns,  with  their  muzzles  pointed  up  in  the  clouds, 
were  curious.  What  interested  me  much  more 
than  the  cannon  were  the  people  looking  at  them. 
There  was  no  boasting,  no  expressions  of  triumph, 
but  a  quiet  steady  look  on  all  the  faces.     One  felt 


292  MY  WAR  DIARY 

the  determination  to  go  on  to  the  end.     "Nous 
les  aurons !"  I  heard  several  men  say. 

Sunday,  October  17th. 

Every  one  was  much  excited  this  afternoon  over 
the  Zeppelin  raid  in  London.  Mr.  B.  read  us  a 
letter  from  a  friend  who  was  coming  out  of  a 
theatre,  when  one  near  was  struck  by  a  bomb. 
They  had  been  warned  at  the  Savoy  Hotel,  half 
an  hour  before  the  Zeppelin  arrived,  but  didn't 
heed  the  warning,  didn't  think  it  was  possible. 
A  great  deal  of  harm  was  done,  quite  two  hundred 
people  killed  and  wounded.  No  details  have  been 
in  the  papers. 

It  seems  incredible  that  the  British  avions 
can't  get  at  them.  A  strict  guard  is  kept  over 
Paris.  Several  Zeppelins  have  been  announced, 
but  so  far  none  have  come.  It  is  much  easier  for 
them  to  get  to  London,  as  the  Channel  fog  pre- 
vents their  being  seen. 

October  19th. 
I  went  to  the  atelier  in  the  rue  de  Chateau- 
briand this  afternoon,  where  our  Comite  Interna- 
tional de  Pansements  Chirurgicaux  is  temporarily 
installed.  Mr.  W.  was  there,  very  busy  unpack- 
ing cases,  and  making  big  parcels  to  be  sent  off 
to  the  hospitals.  It  is  entirely  an  American  work. 
All  the  pansements,  blankets,  old  linen,  etc.,  are 
sent  direct  from  America.     They  send  splendid 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915         293 

things,  which  are  most  appreciated.  All  that  I 
sent  to  some  of  my  hospitals  were  very  acceptable. 

The  Paris  hospitals  are  well  supplied,  but  those 
nearer  the  front — even  in  big  towns  like  Dun- 
kerque  and  Calais — are  in  great  need. 

There  is  always  friction  between  the  Croix 
Rouge  and  the  autorit£s  militaires. 

I  went  to  see  the  Comte  de  B.  afterward,  who 
has  come  up  ill  from  the  country.  He  was  so  de- 
pressed, saw  everything  so  dark,  that  I  was  quite 
unhappy.  Not  only  the  actual  moment  with 
this  awful  fighting  going  on,  but  the  apres  la 
guerre  France  with  no  men  left,  no  money,  and 
no  credit.  Of  course  he  criticised  the  Govern- 
ment, and  still  more  the  diplomatists.  (He  is  an 
Ambassador's  son.)  They  ought  to  have  fore- 
seen what  was  going  to  happen,  and  made  suitable 
provision — as  if  any  one  could  foresee  what  that 
mad  Kaiser  was  going  to  do. 

Friday,  October  22nd. 

The  Mygatts  leave  this  morning  for  America, 
via  Bordeaux.  They  are  not  at  all  nervous.  I 
must  say  I  should  be,  and  would  certainly  not 
take  a  French  or  English  steamer  if  I  was  obliged 
to  go  to  America.  I  hope  they  will  send  a  wire- 
less as  soon  as  they  are  out  of  the  danger  zone. 

Several  people  came  in  to  tea  at  the  ouvroir — 
all  much  excited  over  the  murder  of  Miss  Cavell, 
the  English  nurse.     I  wonder  how  even  the  Ger- 


294  MY  WAR  DIARY 

mans  dared  to  cover  themselves  with  such  obloquy. 
The  details  are  too  awful.  She  behaved  mag- 
nificently; knew  all  the  time  she  was  helping  the 
men  away  that  she  was  risking  her  life. 

The  Balkan  news  is  bad.  It  doesn't  look  as  if 
the  Allies  could  arrive  in  time  to  save  Servia.  It 
is  awful  to  think  of  our  young  men  giving  their 
blood  and  their  lives  for  those  savages.  I  am 
afraid  our  diplomacy  has  not  been  very  brilliant 
in  the  Balkan  negotiations.  "Some  one  has 
blundered." 

Sunday,  October  24th. 

Things  don't  look  cheerful  in  the  Balkans. 
Greece  declines  Britain's  offer  of  Cyprus.  I  sup- 
pose she  couldn't  accept  such  a  palpable  bribe. 

We  had  a  nice  letter  from  Francis,  the  first 
since  several  days.  He  was  in  the  thick  of  the 
last  offensive  in  Champagne ;  says  the  noise  of  the 
cannon  and  the  quick-firing  guns  was  awful. 
He  had  to  piloter  des  convois  de  munitions  in  his 
brigade  (show  the  way  to  munition-lorries),  and 
was  thanked  by  his  colonel  for  his  coolness  and 
promptitude. 

Their  regiment  lost  a  great  many  men,  and  a 
great  many  hors  de  combat  from  the  asphyxiating 
gases. 

He  writes  at  night,  says:  "I  am  writing  at  the 
window.  It  is  a  beautiful  moonlight  night.  The 
noise  of  the  cannon  has  ceased  for  the  present. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        295 

We  don't  hear  a  sound  except  the  rumble  of  the 
motor-ambulances  bringing  in  the  wounded;  ex- 
cept for  that  and  a  few  columns  of  smoke  and 
sparks  going  up  over  Rheims,  at  which  the  enemy 
are  still  throwing  incendiary  bombs,  we  should 
never  dream  a  war  was  going  on." 

I  suppose  one  gets  accustomed  to  everything, 
and  in  a  way  we  lead  a  normal  life — eat,  drink, 
and  go  out  to  see  our  friends.  But  at  night, 
when  the  streets  are  perfectly  dark,  not  a  creature 
passing,  no  sound  of  life  anywhere,  a  great  sad- 
ness and  terror  of  the  future  comes  upon  us. 

Tuesday,  October  26th,  '15. 
To-day  we  have  had  a  thick  yellow  fog.  Shops 
and  trams  lighted,  quite  like  London,  except  for 
the  blacks.  I  walked  over  to  the  temporary  in- 
stallation of  a  new  "Surgical  Dressing  Committee" 
in  a  rather  dark,  cold  studio  in  the  rue  Chateau- 
briand. I  found  three  or  four  of  the  ladies,  Prin- 
cesse  R.,  Comtesse  S.,  Mrs.  P.,  working  very  hard, 
the  rooms  filled  with  cases,  some  of  them  not 
unpacked.  The  ladies  were  sitting  on  boxes  and 
working  at  tables  (a  plank  put  across  boxes)  and 
looked  very  businesslike  and  very  cold  in  their 
white  inflrmiere  blouses.  There  is  a  small  stove, 
but  it  doesn't  heat  enough;  the  place  is  really  not 
comfortable,  and  not  nearly  large  enough  for  all 
the  boxes  that  are  arriving  all  the  time  from 
America. 


296  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Mr.  W.,  our  secretary,  tells  us  many  cases  have 
arrived  at  Bordeaux.  How  long  they  will  stay 
there  I  don't  know.  It  seems  that  several  con- 
signments of  cases  and  packages  have  crossed  the 
Atlantic  once  or  twice.  Of  course  they  are  very 
short  of  hands  at  Bordeaux,  and  the  unloading  is 
a  very  long  affair.  When  the  vessel  has  to  start 
back  and  not  all  the  cases  have  been  unloaded, 
they  remain  on  board,  go  back  to  America,  and 
hope  for  better  luck  next  time. 

The  Clearing-House  does  very  good  work;  and 
the  Government  takes  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to 
see  that  the  parcels  are  properly  distributed. 

I  went  late  to  tea  with  Mrs.  P.  to  meet  Mr. 
Powell,  the  war  correspondent.  I  think  his  book, 
Fighting  in  Flanders,  the  best  of  the  quantity  of 
war  books  that  have  been  written.  It  is  so  natural 
and  tells  all  his  adventures  so  simply  and  frankly. 
He  has  been  everywhere  and  seen  everything  since 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  It  was  most  interesting 
to  listen  to  him.  Of  course  his  point  of  view  was 
absolutely  American,  but  I  think  his  sympathies 
are  quite  with  us.  He  says  the  French  are  fine 
fighters.  He  was  all  through  the  last  Balkan  War, 
and  didn't  think  another  one  would  have  come  so 
soon,  though  he  felt  the  smallest  spark  would 
start  mischief  there. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915         297 

Sunday,  October  31st,  '15. 

We  had  a  good  many  people  at  tea-time,  all 
talking  of  two  things :  the  new  Ministry  and  King 
George's  accident.  I  imagine  Gallieni  is  a  very 
good  appointment.  It  must  be  better  to  have 
un  homme  du  metier  at  the  War  Office.  Still  I 
fancy  Millerand  will  be  regretted  in  the  army. 
The  soldiers  liked  him  very  much.  I  should  think, 
too,  the  continuation  of  Jules  Cambon  and  Briand 
at  the  Foreign  Office  was  excellent.  Cambon  is 
very  clever,  not  easily  humbugged,  not  even  by 
the  Kaiser,  who  made  a  great  fuss  over  him  when 
he  was  Ambassador  in  Berlin. 

Sir  H.  L.  came  in  late;  said  the  King  was  doing 
well,  no  bones  broken;  but  it  was  a  narrow  escape. 
His  horse  slipped  and  rolled  on  him,  bruising  him 
terribly.  For  one  awful  moment  the  officers 
thought  he  was  dead.  It  is  too  unfortunate,  as 
his  visit  to  the  front  has  been  such  a  success. 
The  soldiers  were  delighted  with  him.  He  was 
so  simple  and  kind.  Several  people  told  me  he 
reminded  them  so  much  of  his  father — so  inter- 
ested in  everything.  Certainly  King  Edward  had 
an  extraordinary  gift  of  sympathy,  and  knew 
exactly  what  to  say  to  people  and  how  to  say  it. 
I  wonder  what  he  in  his  wisdom  would  have 
thought  of  this  war.  He  understood  his  nephew 
perfectly.  I  don't  think  any  insanity  on  the  part 
of  the  "War- Lord"  would  have  surprised  him; 
but  for  a  whole  nation  to  go  suddenly  mad  and 


298  MY  WAR  DIARY 

fancy  themselves  chosen  by  God  to  chastise  the 
civilised  world  would  have  astonished  him. 


Tuesday,  November  2nd,  '15. 

These  have  been  melancholy  days,  though 
there  were  quite  a  number  of  people  in  the  streets 
carrying  bunches  of  flowers,  and  the  churches 
were  crowded.  A  good  many  men,  a  good  many 
soldiers.  I  got  a  chair  for  one  poor  one-legged 
young  fellow.  He  was  so  glad  to  get  it;  said  he 
wasn't  accustomed  yet  to  walking  with  crutches, 
was  so  afraid  of  slipping  on  the  wet  crossings. 
We  are  getting  quite  used  to  seeing  the  mutiles 
at  work  again.  All  the  big  shops  have  taken 
back  their  employes  who  have  been  wounded  but 
are  still  able  to  work. 

At  the  Trois-Quartiers  there  is  such  a  good- 
looking  young  man  at  the  ascenseur  (lift).  He 
has  lost  his  right  arm,  and  limps  a  little,  but  he 
looks  very  smiling;  has  two  crosses,  the  croix  de 
guerre  and  the  Legion  d'Honneur.  Every  one 
knows  him,  and  I  fancy  he  has  to  tell  his  battles 
over  again  many  times. 

The  papers  are  full  of  the  new  Ministry.  I 
think  Gallieni's  appointment  gives  great  satis- 
faction. 

The  Servians  are  making  a  gallant  fight,  but  I 
am  afraid  the  poor  little  country  is  doomed. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        299 


ANNEL 

ChAteau-Ambulance  d'Annel 
(8  kilometres  from  the  front), 
Saturday,  November  6th,  '15. 

We  got  down  here  last  night.  I  decided  quite 
suddenly  late  Thursday  evening  to  come.  Mrs. 
Depew  had  breakfasted  and  would  bring  me  down 
in  her  motor  if  she  could  get  me  a  sauf-conduit. 
She  couldn't,  but  I  asked  the  U.  S.  Ambassador, 
Mr.  Sharp,  where  I  was  lunching  Friday,  if  he 
could  do  anything  for  me.  He  couldn't  give  me 
an  official  passport  as  I  am  not  an  American  sub- 
ject, but  gave  a  letter  with  the  Embassy  seal. 
Mme.  D.  was  rather  doubtful  if  I  could  get 
through,  but  I  thought  I  would  risk  it,  and  I 
had,  too,  my  pieces  d'identit6. 

We  started  at  4  o'clock,  Mrs.  D.  and  I  and  her 
English  chauffeur,  the  motor  rilled  with  packages 
of  all  kinds,  from  hospital  dressings  to  a  "quetch" 
pie,  which  we  stopped  for  at  Henri's,  and  which 
was  very  difficult  to  transport.  It  slipped  off  the 
seat  once  or  twice.     However,  it  arrived  safe. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  still  and  bright,  the 
road  as  usual,  deserted  except  for  military  autos 
and  ambulances.  It  was  quite  dark  before  we 
arrived  at  P.,  our  first  halt,  and  we  were  getting 
a  little  nervous.  Suddenly  we  saw  a  bright 
light;  a  blue-coated  soldier  sprang  up  before  us, 
his  musket  held  up  horizontally,  barring  the  way. 


300  MY  WAR  DIARY 

The  chauffeur  showed  his  pass,  also  Mrs.  D.  The 
man  asked  no  questions  and  we  passed.  It  was 
a  relief  as  it  would  have  been  a  bore  to  have  been 
obliged  to  stay  the  night  in  a  little  village.  I 
don't  know  if  the  Ambassador's  letter  would  have 
helped  me;  but  as  no  questions  were  asked,  I 
didn't  show  any  papers. 

We  passed  the  other  sentry  in  the  same  way, 
and  were  quite  pleased  when  we  turned  into  the 
great  courtyard  of  Annel. 

We  passed  through  one  village  where  Spahis 
are  quartered.  It  looked  weird  to  see  the  tall 
figures  in  their  white  turbans  and  long  scarlet 
cloaks,  emerge  from  the  shadows  and  disappear 
again  in  the  darkness  as  the  auto  dashed  past. 

We  were  quite  a  large  party  at  dinner:  Mrs.  D., 
her  daughter,  and  the  daughter's  governess,  and 
the  medical  staff,  very  cosmopolitan.  The  head 
surgeon  was  English,  the  second  American,  and 
a  French  medecin  en  chef;  also  a  young  English 
chauffeur  with  his  ambulance,  and  a  Frenchman 
who  knows  English  well,  as  a  sort  of  surveillant. 

The  Englishmen  don't  speak  much  French,  but 
enough  to  get  on.     We  had  a  quiet  evening. 

To-day  it  has  been  beautiful,  the  sun  shining 
in  at  all  the  windows,  and  the  park  lovely  with 
the  changing  autumn  tints,  the  poplars  too  beau- 
tiful, the  long  avenues  like  a  wall  of  gold. 

I  walked  about  a  little  in  the  courtyard  in  the 
sun.     It   was   most   animated,    soldiers,   motors, 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        301 

orderlies  coming  and  going.  Mrs.  D.  and  I  went 
for  a  stroll  in  the  park,  heard  an  avion  over  our 
heads,  but  didn't  pay  much  attention,  so  many 
pass  all  the  time.  Suddenly  we  heard  our  bat- 
teries at  O.  and  the  villages  near  firing  hard, 
and  little  white  purls  of  smoke,  like  clouds  in 
the  sky.  The  men  came  running  out.  It  was  a 
German  avion  making  for  Compiegne,  and  pass- 
ing directly  over  the  chateau.  We  stood  a  few 
minutes  under  an  abri  (there  are  several  in  the 
park),  but  thought  we  might  as  well  go  back  to 
the  house.  We  didn't  run,  but  we  walked  fast. 
One  or  two  bombs  were  dropped  in  a  field,  but 
didn't  do  any  harm. 

The  cannonading  has  been  incessant  all  day, 
the  windows  shaking  and  the  house  trembling 
when  one  of  the  big  guns  roared.  Before  tea 
we  walked  to  the  end  of  the  park  to  see  the 
trenches  and  barbed-wire  entanglements  they  are 
making  there.  We  are  so  close  to  the  front 
here  that  they  are  taking  every  possible  pre- 
caution in  case  the  Germans  should  advance  in 
this  direction.  Of  course  one  gets  accustomed 
to  everything,  but  it  is  unusual  to  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  avions  and  trenches. 

Tuesday,  November  9th. 
It  has  been  beautiful  again  to-day.     There  was 
to  have  been  a  concert  this  evening,  but  late  last 
night  there  came  a  telegram  saying  it  must  be 


302  MY  WAR  DIARY 

postponed:  "Impossible  d'avoir  sauf-conduits 
pour  les  artistes!"  It  was  a  great  disappoint- 
ment and  a  great  bore  for  Mrs.  D.,  as  she  had  in- 
vited all  the  officers  of  the  neighbouring  cantonne- 
ments  (who  don't  get  much  distraction  down  here). 
In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  we  heard  laughing 
and  singing  in  the  courtyard.  We  went  out  to 
see  what  was  going  on.  A  piano  which  Mrs.  D. 
had  sent  for,  for  her  concert,  had  arrived  in  an 
ambulance;  a  big  zouave  was  playing,  and  four 
or  five  soldiers  inside  were  singing. 

As  the  concert  was  postponed  Mr.  D.  suggested 
some  music  in  the  convalescent  ward,  which  used 
to  be  the  music-room,  where  there  is  a  fine  organ. 
She  played  the  organ,  Frances  the  cello,  and  the 
men  sang  solos  and  choruses.  Some  of  them  had 
very  pretty  voices.  They  finished,  of  course, 
with  the  "Marseillaise."  One  poor  fellow,  an 
officer,  who  could  hardly  stand  on  his  crutches, 
helped  in  and  settled  in  an  armchair,  making  a 
great  effort  for  the  "Marseillaise,"  dragged  him- 
self up  and  stood  as  straight  as  he  could,  while 
the  famous  chant  de  guerre  was  being  sung. 

Frances  was  charming  with  the  men,  so  simple 
and  gay.  I  can't  think  it  is  a  good  thing  for  a 
girl  of  her  age  to  be  in  such  an  atmosphere  of 
suffering  and  misery,  but  all  the  conditions  of 
life  are  so  changed  by  this  awful  war  that  ordi- 
nary rules  don't  exist. 

We  had  several  officers  to  dinner  (among  others, 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        303 

the  Due  de  R.),  just  out  of  the  trenches,  not  hav- 
ing had  their  clothes  off  for  nine  days  and  nights, 
and  all  so  en  train  and  confident.  Yet  it  is 
for  these  men  between  thirty  and  forty  that  the 
life  is  so  difficult,  brought  up  in  every  comfort 
and  luxury,  thrown  suddenly  into  such  a  rough, 
dangerous  life.  Many  of  the  best  names  in 
France  are  serving  as  privates  in  line  regiments. 
It  is  different  for  the  peasants,  the  young  ones 
especially,  who  don't  know  what  war  means,  and 
go  off  full  of  illusions. 

I  am  thinking  of  a  little  shepherd,  eighteen  years 
old,  who  went  off  from  my  village — a  child  who 
knew  nothing  of  life  but  fields  and  animals  and  sun 
and  air,  and  who  slept  every  night  on  a  heap  of 
straw  in  a  warm  grange  alongside  of  his  beasts. 
He  was  so  proud  to  handle  a  gun  and  be  a  soldier. 
His  regiment  was  in  Flanders,  he  was  rushed  at 
once  to  the  front,  was  struck  by  a  shell  fragment 
the  very  first  days,  died  in  agony,  poor  child,  and 
begging  for  his  mother;  and  there  are  hundreds 
in  the  same  case.  The  nurses  tell  me  there  are 
so  many  of  the  young  ones  who  call  for  their 
mothers.  One  poor  boy,  half  out  of  his  head 
with  pain  and  fever,  called  always  for  "Maman." 
She  said  to  him,  putting  her  hand  on  his  head: 
"Mais  oui,  mon  petit,  maman  est  la!"  and  the 
boy  was  quite  satisfied  and  went  off  to  sleep. 


304  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Wednesday,  November  ioth. 

It  is  a  beautiful  morning.  Many  of  the  con- 
valescent soldiers  are  walking  about  in  the  park 
with  canes  and  crutches  and  bandaged  arms  and 
legs.  Every  day  I  stop  and  speak  to  such  a  sad 
little  couple — father  and  sister  of  a  poor  young 
fellow  who  is  dying — wounded  in  the  spine,  para- 
lysed. The  old  man  is  a  type,  small  with  red 
cheeks,  many  wrinkles,  and  white  whiskers.  He 
is  dressed  in  stiff,  black  broadcloth;  the  clothes 
hang  loosely  on  him.  I  should  think  he  had  bor- 
rowed them  to  come.  The  sister  looks  a  little 
more  modern.  It  seems  that  the  boy  wanted  to 
be  a  Capucin  monk.  The  doctor  says  there  is  no 
chance  for  him.  They  know  it  quite  well,  "and 
are  waiting  here  for  the  end. 

After  breakfast,  Mrs.  D.  and  I  went  in  to 
Compi&gne  in  the  auto.  It  looked  melancholy 
enough.  Half  the  shops  shut;  nobody  in  the 
streets.  Usually  at  this  season  Compi&gne  is  full 
of  people,  hunting  and  shouting,  and  the  famous 
patissier  jammed.  I  would  hardly  have  believed 
it  was  Compiegne. 

We  went  to  see  the  house  knocked  to  bits  by 
a  bomb  from  a  German  avion,  which  also  killed 
three  nurses. 

We  had  some  French  officers  to  tea:  the  Due 
de  Rohan,  Noailles,  and  one  other.  They  were 
interesting  enough.  Rohan  was  at  the  battle  of 
the  Marne,  gave  a  most  graphic  account  of  it; 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        305 

said  their  orders  were  categorical:  "Mourir  sur 
place,  resister  jusqu'a  la  fin."  He  never  thought 
he  would  get  out  alive,  nor  that  Paris  could  be 
saved. 

Paris,  Thursday,  November  nth. 
We  came  in  this  morning.  A  lovely  day.  The 
woods  looked  beautiful,  but  the  country  is  dead; 
nobody  in  the  fields  or  in  the  woods.  They  are 
making  trenches  everywhere.  I  don't  know  why. 
Perhaps  they  think  the  Germans  may  still  make 
a  last  desperate  dash  on  Paris. 

Paris,  Monday,  November  15th. 
I  have  taken  up  my  regular  Paris  work  again. 
We  have  had  such  miserable-looking  soldiers  these 
days  at  the  ouvroir — men  just  out  of  the  hospital 
and  going  back  to  the  front.  Some  didn't  look 
fit  to  go  back,  but  they  were  all  quite  ready  to 
begin  again. 

Friday,  November  19th. 

It  was  lovely  yesterday.  Charlotte,  Willy,  and 
I  walked  about  a  little  and  went  to  Emile  Paul 
to  have  some  books  sent  to  Francis.  He  writes 
he  hardly  has  time  to  finish  them.  The  Colonel 
and  all  his  comrades  clamour  for  them. 

We  had  a  nice  musical  evening  last  night,  al- 
most the  old  times.  The  Wolffs  and  Mr.  B.  dined 
and  we  played  all  the  evening.     I  was  delighted 


3o6  MY  WAR  DIARY 

to  accompany  Wolff  again,  though  I  was  rather 
nervous  as  I  never  touch  the  piano  now  except 
to  make  the  boys  sing  the  "  Chant  du  d6part "  and 
the  " Marseillaise."  Wolff  played  divinely.  It 
was  a  real  pleasure,  almost  made  me  forget  the 
war  and  the  haunting  terror  always  in  my  heart 
of  what  may  come  to  us. 

Saturday,  November  20th. 

We  had  a  meeting  of  our  committee  of  bandages 
and  hospital  dressings  this  afternoon  at  Mrs.  W.'s, 
an  American  lady  who  kindly  put  her  apartment 
at  our  disposal.  An  interesting  English  nurse 
was  there,  who  was  very  practical  in  her  sugges- 
tions. She  said  what  we  all  realise,  that  the 
American  dressings  were  not  all  such  as  are  used 
here.  Evidently  not  only  each  country  has  its 
own  special  dressings  and  habits,  but  each  sur- 
geon as  well. 

However,  the  things  from  America  are  excellent, 
arrive  in  perfect  condition,  and  as  everything  is 
given,  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  offer  to  the  French 
hospitals.  Some  of  the  poor  ones  in  the  country 
need  everything,  and  even  some  of  the  military 
hospitals — they  have  just  the  stricte  n£cessaire — 
are  grateful  for  anything. 

Monday,  November  22nd,  '15. 
Poor  Admiral  Boggs  died  this  morning.     He 
was  a  fine  type  of  a  sailor  and  a  gentleman.     I 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        307 

went  to  the  house  before  breakfast — just  saw 
Anna  a  moment.  She  looks  badly.  It  has  been 
a  long  strain  for  her. 

After  breakfast  I  went  with  Fanny  de  M.  to 
a  meeting  of  the  French-American  Committee 
for  the  Belgian  Croix  Rouge.  There  were  quite 
a  number  of  ladies.  Comtesse  Greffuhle  presided. 
Mrs.  Sharp,  American  Ambassadress,  was  there. 
They  decided  to  have  a  gala  matine*e  at  the  Grand 
Opera,  the  first  time  it  has  been  opened  since  the 
war.  A  Belgian  deputy  made  a  short  speech, 
very  grateful  for  everything  that  was  being  done 
for  Belgium,  but  so  sad.  He  spoke  with  much 
emotion.  It  is  awful  to  think  that  there  are 
children  whom  no  one  knows  about,  not  even 
what  their  names  are;  a  lot  of  them  were  picked 
out  of  cellars  in  the  Belgian  towns  and  villages 
that  were  burned  and  destroyed — huddled  to- 
gether like  little  animals. 

Friday,  November  26th,  '15. 
I  went  to  the  Cr6dit  Lyonnais  this  morning, 
but  couldn't  cash  my  small  cheque.  There  were 
long  lines  of  people  subscribing  to  the  Govern- 
ment bonds.  The  employes,  mostly  women,  some 
mere  girls,  perfectly  bewildered  with  all  they  had 
to  do.  The  cashier  told  me  they  would  not  close 
as  usual  at  4  o'clock,  would  go  on  all  the  evening. 
There  were  all  sorts  and  kinds — poor,  bent  old 
women  buying  one  bond,  soldiers  of  all  grades — 


3o8  MY  WAR  DIARY 

one  young  sergeant,  good-looking,  evidently  a 
gentleman,  making  a  big  investment,  and  three  or 
four  very  dressy  young  ladies,  that  is  to  say, 
dressy  for  war  time:  very  short  skirts,  leather 
gaiters,  short  coats  like  the  soldiers,  with  big 
pockets,  and  all  carrying  a  fairly  big  leather  bag. 
We  all  carry  bags  with  papiers  d'identite,  permis 
de  sejour,  Croix  Rouge  medals,  etc.  At  any 
moment  one  is  liable  to  be  stopped  by  a  police- 
man and  asked  for  papers — particularly  all  Eng- 
lish-speaking people,  as  the  very  zealous  French 
official  can't  always  see  the  difference  between 
English  and  German  spoken  fast. 

Monday,  November  29th. 

An  awful  day — cold  rain.  Charlotte  and  I 
went  to  tea  with  M.  H.,  a  bachelor  friend  and 
country  neighbour.  There  were  only  twelve  to 
fourteen  people,  and  lovely  music.  It  was  a  real 
pleasure  to  be  distracted  for  an  hour  from  all  the 
anxieties  and  misery  of  these  awful  days. 

There  was  a  man  there  just  back  from  Servia 
who  told  us  horrors  of  the  miserable  peasants 
flying  in  cold  and  snow  from  the  terrors  of  the 
Bulgarian  invasion — women  canying  babies,  one 
on  each  arm,  smaller  children  tugging  at  their 
skirts  and  dropping  off  to  fall  down  and  die  on 
the  roadside,  in  the  snow.  We  were  haunted  all 
night  by  the  awful  pictures  he  gave  us. 

We  are  all  working  hard  here  for  the  Servians, 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        309 

but  the  little  we  can  do  seems  nothing  when  a 
whole  people  has  to  be  cared  for.  I  ask  myself 
sometimes  why  such  suffering  is  allowed.  We 
are  taught  always  to  believe  in  a  God  of  mercy, 
who  does  not  willingly  afflict  nor  grieve  the  chil- 
dren of  men !  Surely  if  the  whole  world  has 
sinned  grievously,  it  is  expiating  now. 

Abb6  D.,  my  Catholic  cure*  and  friend,  says  we 
mustn't  question  the  decrees  of  Providence — but 
we  can't  help  thinking.  .  .  . 

The  news  from  Francis  is  good.  He  hopes  we 
are  thinking  of  Christmas  and  plum  puddings  for 
himself  and  his  men.  He  also  wants  warm  waist- 
coats— as  many  as  we  can  send;  says  the  men 
from  the  pays  envahis  are  in  desperate  need,  as 
of  course  their  families  can  send  them  nothing. 

Wednesday,  December  1st,  1915. 
It  has  rained  hard  all  day.  Bessie  G.  and  I 
went  to  a  meeting  of  the  Belgian-American  Com- 
mittee. Mr.  Allen  is  going  back  soon  to  America, 
and  thinks  it  might  be  a  good  thing  to  take  over 
some  films,  and  start  some  Allied  cinematographs 
over  there,  and  counteract  the  wonderful  propa- 
ganda the  Germans  are  making  with  theirs.  It 
seems  they  have  splendid  ones;  all  sorts  of  pic- 
tures, showing  the  Kaiser  in  full  uniform,  the 
" War- Lord"  speeding  his  generals  on  their  way; 
taking  patriotic  leave  of  his  children  and  grand- 
children.    Certainly  we  could  send  some  terrible 


3io  MY  WAR  DIARY 

records  of  havoc  and  murder,  whole  villages  de- 
stroyed, both  in  Belgium  and  France,  and  bands 
of  unhappy  refugees  tramping  along  the  deserted 
roads,  trying  to  carry  some  of  their  household 
goods,  but  obliged  to  throw  them  away  as  the 
heavy  march  went  on.  All  of  them  needn't  be 
tragic. 

I  often  think  of  the  description  of  the  Queen  of 
the  Belgians  going  to  parliament  the  day  of  the 
mobilisation — very  pale,  very  quiet,  her  sons  on 
each  side  of  her.  When  she  appeared  in  the  royal 
box,  there  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  moment  (she 
is  a  Bavarian  princess,  a  Wittelsbach),  and  she 
grew  visibly  agitated,  her  hands  trembling. 
Suddenly  there  were  bursts  of  cheers,  all  the 
deputies  standing,  waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs, 
shouting:  "Vive  la  Reine!"  It  would  make  a 
pretty  picture. 

Thursday,  December  2nd. 

Charlotte,  Frank,  and  I  went  out  to  a  military 
hospital  at  Drancy,  near  Le  Bourget.  It  rained 
all  the  time,  which  was  a  pity,  as  the  hospital  is 
established  in  the  old  chateau,  which  stands  in  a 
large  park.  There  are  fifteen  men,  all  very  well 
taken  care  of  by  French  doctors,  and  the  Sceurs 
de  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  but  no  luxuries  nor  little 
refinements.  The  good  sister  who  took  us  through 
the  wards,  said  the  men  were  not  spoiled  by  visits 
or  presents — was  much  pleased  that  we  had 
brought  cigarettes  and  chocolates. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        311 

Some  poor  fellows  were  too  badly  hurt  to  care 
about  anything,  but  they  tried  to  smile.  One 
followed  Frank  with  his  eyes.  I  said  to  him: 
"You  have  children  ?"  "I  don't  know,  Madame, 
I  had  two,  but  I  have  heard  nothing  since  the  first 
days  of  the  war.  We  come  from  a  village  close 
to  the  Belgian  frontier.  Had  a  little  farm  which 
we  worked,  and  which  gave  us  all  we  needed — 
but  now!"  And  the  poor  fellow's  voice  broke. 
"If  I  could  only  know  they  had  a  roof  over  their 
heads  and  were  not  starving!"  We  took  his 
name  and  address,  and  will  try  to  get  some  in- 
formation, but  it  is  very  difficult. 

Sunday,  December  5th,  '15. 
We  had  a  good  many  people  at  tea-time,  all 
discussing  Kitchener's  journey  east.  B.  says  he 
hears  the  troops  are  coming  back  from  Salonica. 
I  can't  believe  it;  having  made  the  effort,  I  think 
they  ought  to  stay. 

Monday,  December  6th. 
Charlotte  and  I  went  shopping  this  morning, 
getting  a  Christmas  dinner  for  Francis  and  his 
comrades.  They  are  ten  at  the  mess;  we  wanted 
to  send  a  turkey,  but  the  man  at  Pot  in 's  advised 
us  not  to.  It  would  certainly  spoil  in  the  eight  or 
ten  days  it  takes  to  arrive  at  the  front ;  so  we  did 
what  we  could  with  pates  de  foie  gras,  hams,  con- 
serves and  plum  puddings.     The  puddings  are 


312  MY  WAR  DIARY 

made  in  tins  expressly  for  the  soldiers,  and  were 
as  heavy  as  lead  to  pack.  I  hope  they  will  get 
there. 

Francis,  now  being  at  some  distance  from 
Rheims,  will  not  have  the  Christmas  dinner  with 
turkey  and  champagne  he  would  have  had  with  his 
friends  the  Champagne  people. 

This  afternoon  we  had  a  meeting  of  our  Band- 
age Committee,  and  then  went  to  look  at  rooms 
which  some  one  told  us  the  American  Radiator 
Company  would  let  us  have  for  our  ouvroirs. 
They  are  beautiful  big  rooms,  quite  unfurnished. 
The  company  is  doing  very  little  business,  so  I 
hope  they  will  let  us  have  them.  Everybody 
talking  Salonica.  Say  the  French  and  British 
troops  will  leave. 

Friday,  December  ioth. 

I  went  up  late  to  see  Charlotte  who  has  a  sol- 
dier staying  with  her — a  man  from  St.  Quentin 
(pays  occupe),  who  has  arrived  in  Paris  with  a 
permission  of  six  days — knowing  no  one,  no  friends 
nor  family  here.  Charlotte  heard  of  him  through 
his  brother,  a  young  fellow  badly  wounded,  whom 
she  had  known  at  the  B.  hospital.  The  man,  a 
gunner,  looked  very  nice.  Frank  seized  my  hand 
as  soon  as  I  got  into  the  house,  and  dragged  me 
to  the  lingerie,  saying:  "Viens,  Danny,  viens  voir 
le  poilu  de  Maman  !" 

He   looked  rather  sad,   having  just   seen  his 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        313 

twenty-two-year-old  brother  at  the  hospital  badly 
wounded  in  the  arm.  They  hope  they  can  save 
it,  not  amputate;  but  it  will  always  be  para- 
lysed.    He  can  never  use  it. 

December  12th. 
Charlotte,  the  boys,  their  little  friend  Alice 
Dodge,  and  the  poilu  came  to  breakfast.  The 
poilu  looked  very  nice;  had  had  a  bath,  been 
shaved  and  all  new  underclothes,  and  the  maids 
had  cleaned  and  mended  his  uniform.  He  was  a 
very  good-looking  young  gunner,  and  the  children 
were  delighted  to  have  him.  C.  took  the  whole 
party,  including  the  wounded  brother  (whom 
they  picked  up  at  the  Biget),  to  the  circus. 

Monday,  December  13  th. 

I  dined  at  the  Crillon  with  Mr.  D.  Mr.  Bacon 
came  and  sat  with  us.  He  rather  reassured  me 
about  America  and  the  German  element.  He 
doesn't  think  the  Government's  policy  very  spir- 
ited, and  does  consider  the  situation  grave,  but 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  civil  war,  or  the  Germans 
giving  any  real  trouble  in  America.  Says  the 
Germans  couldn't  stand  for  a  moment  against 
the  Americans  if  it  came  to  a  crisis. 

One  or  two  English  officers  came  and  sat  with 
us.  I  asked  them  what  Kitchener  had  come  over 
for.  They  replied,  naturally,  that  they  didn't 
know — and  wouldn't  have  told  us  if  they  did. 


314  MY  WAR  DIARY 

Some  one  said  he   looked  very  grave,   but  he 
always  has  a  stern  face. 

Wednesday,  December  15th. 

I  went  to  tea  with  the  Watsons,  to  meet  an 
American  nurse  who  has  just  come  back  from 
Servia.  She  says  the  misery  there  is  too  awful 
for  words.  The  flight  of  the  wretched  women 
and  children  in  the  cold  and  snow,  over  the  moun- 
tains is  something  not  to  be  imagined.  Old 
people  and  little  children  too  big  to  be  carried, 
too  small  to  struggle  through  the  snow  and  cold, 
left  to  die  on  the  roadside. 

She  is  going  home  to  rest,  but  wants  to  come 
out  again  in  the  early  spring. 

Dr.  Watson  read  us  a  charming  letter  from  a 
French  cure  de  campagne — so  large-minded,  and 
so  convinced  that  the  religious  feeling  is  coming 
back  in  France. 

Thursday,  December  16th  (191 5). 
I  went  to  tea  at  the  Ritz,  where  Mrs.  Depew 
had  organised  a  sale  of  pelotes  fleuries,  to  give  a 
Christmas  present  to  the  soldiers  in  the  trenches. 
They  were  very  pretty  little  cushions  of  velvet 
and  satin,  with  a  wreath  of  artificial  flowers  around 
them,  and  a  fall  of  lace  like  an  old-fashioned 
bouquet.  They  were  very  well  arranged  in  the 
hall  at  the  Ritz,  and  I  should  think  a  great  many 
were  sold.     Mrs.  D.  and  some  of  her  friends  had 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        315 

invited  people  to  tea,  and  it  was  a  very  gay  scene. 
I  hadn't  seen  so  many  pearls  and  velvet  dresses 
for  a  long  time.  The  company  was  mostly  for- 
eign, which  explains  the  dressing.  None  of  the 
Frenchwomen  here  wear  anything  but  black  or 
dark  tailor  suits. 

Sunday,  December  19th. 
We  had  an  interesting  breakfast.  Mrs.  and 
Mr.  Willard  (no  relation  to  each  other)  and  Char- 
lotte came.  Mrs.  Willard,  who  is  connected  with 
every  important  and  international  working  com- 
mittee in  America,  has  just  come  over,  and  is 
going  to  organise  the  French  branch  of  the  "Sur- 
gical Dressing"  Committee.  She  was  amusing 
over  the  trousers  she  had  brought  over  for  me. 
In  one  of  the  cases  sent  us  from  America,  were 
twenty  dozen  woollen  waistcoats,  but  no  coats 
nor  trousers.  It  seemed  impossible  to  get  any, 
though  my  men  friends  were  very  generous.  One 
or  two,  instead  of  sending  me  flowers,  sent  me 
several  pairs  of  trousers.  I  said  one  day  at  the 
ouvroir,  that  if  I  didn't  get  any  more  soon,  I 
should  put  a  notice  in  the  papers  in  big  headlines : 

"MADAME  WADDINGTON  WANTS 
TROUSERS" 

Mr.  Willard  said  if  I  would  write  him  a  letter 
saying  exactly  what  I  wanted,  he  was  sure  he 
could  get  me  some  from  America. 


3i6  MY  WAR  DIARY 

The  result  was  most  gratifying.  Some  began 
to  come  at  once,  and  Mrs.  W.  brought  me  over 
one  big  bag  full  of  trousers.  She  said  she  was 
puisued  by  them.  Some  packages  arrived  on  the 
steamer  the  day  she  left. 

Thursday,  December  23rd. 

I  breakfasted  with  the  Segurs.  He  was  rather 
blue  about  the  war  news,  and  we  are  all  unhappy 
about  Salonica.  It  seems  so  awful  to  have  our 
soldiers  sacrificed  for  those  brigands  in  the  Bal- 
kans. We  have  no  interest  there,  nor  in  Egypt 
either.  I  wish  the  French  could  have  stayed  at 
home  and  driven  the  enemy  from  our  soil,  and  not 
risked  themselves  in  the  East. 

Segur  also  criticised  America  and  Wilson's 
policy  very  severely.  I  couldn't  say  she  was 
playing  a  very  spirited  part.  Of  course  it  isn't 
her  fight;  but  she  might  have  protested  in  the 
name  of  Humanity,  and  made  herself  a  fine  posi- 
tion as  the  generous  young  neutral  power  across 
the  sea. 

Charlotte  and  Mrs.  Dodge  came  for  me  there  at 
2  o'clock,  and  we  went  out  in  Mrs.  D.'s  motor  to 
the  Military  Hospital  at  Drancy.  The  two  ladies 
had  been  there  once  or  twice  taking  douceurs  to 
the  wounded  men,  and  they  decided  to  make  them 
a  Christmas  tree.  The  Sup6rieure,  the  Sceur 
R6camier,  a  charming  woman,  was  delighted 
when  they  told  her  what  they  wanted  to  do. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        317 

Though  it  was  pouring,  she  insisted  upon  going 
at  once  into  the  park  to  choose  a  tree,  put  on  her 
black  knitted  shawl  and  sabots,  and  chose  a  very- 
good  one,  and  promised  to  have  it  put  up  and 
ready  for  them  to-day.  The  motor  was  so  full 
of  packages  of  all  kinds  that  it  was  rather  difficult 
for  us  three  women  to  get  in,  but  we  didn't  mind. 
We  found  the  tree  very  well  installed  in  a  corner 
of  the  big  reiectoire.  The  good  sisters  were  in 
quite  a  flutter  of  excitement.  One  or  two  con- 
valescent soldiers  and  a  soldier  priest,  the  Pere 
Lausan,  just  from  the  front,  were  waiting  to  help 
us.  The  pere  mounted  on  a  ladder  to  put  the 
star  quite  at  the  top  of  the  tree.  It  was  very  high, 
and  as  he  had  been  badly  wounded  in  the  stomach, 
the  Sceur  R6camier  was  most  unwilling  he  should 
go  up;  but  he  assured  her  his  legs  and  arms  were 
solid,  and  two  tall  soldiers  held  the  ladder. 

The  tree  was  quickly  dressed  with  so  many 
willing  hands;  but  they  hadn't  brought  enough 
candles.  While  they  were  dressing  the  tree,  I 
inspected  the  harmonium,  as  Charlotte  thought 
I  could,  perhaps,  accompany  the  soldiers  if  they 
sang  anything,  or  play  a  march  when  they  came 
in.  I  could  do  nothing  with  it,  no  matter  what 
stop  I  pulled  out,  it  always  responded  grand  jeu, 
and  roared  through  the  hall. 

The  sister  who  plays  in  the  chapel  came  down 
and  managed  it  better,  though  she  said  it  was  old 
and  out  of  order.     She  was  a  charming,  refined- 


318  MY  WAR  DIARY 

looking  woman,  seemed  hardly  to  touch  the  notes, 
and  brought  such  a  pretty  sound  out  of  the  old 
instrument.  The  Superieure  told  me  she  was  a 
beautiful  musician — premier  prix  piano  Conser- 
vatoire^— but  that  she  had  given  up  her  music. 
It  was  a  sacrifice  she  was  obliged  to  make  to  the 
Bon  Dieu.  "But  why,  ma  sceur?  Surely  music 
is  a  beautiful  and  elevating  thing!"  "Yes,  but 
it  was  too  much  of  a  pleasure  for  her,  and  took 
time  which  should  be  devoted  to  other  things. 
They  must  all  make  that  sacrifice  when  they  give 
themselves  to  God.  We  have  also  a  young  vi- 
olinist— premier  prix  Conservatoire.  She,  too, 
never  touches  her  violin.  It  was  difficult  for  her 
at  first." 

The  p&re  asked  Charlotte  if  she  would  like  the 
men  to  sing  something — a  Noel  quelconque — 
which  she,  of  course,  agreed  to  with  pleasure. 

We  had  a  quiet  evening.  The  news  seems  good. 
Everything  quiet  at  Salonica. 

Friday,  December  24th,  '15. 
I  did  a  little  Christmas  shopping  after  we  came 
out  of  the  ouvroir.  I  had  thought  I  would  go, 
perhaps,  to  Potin's  and  get  some  chocolate  and 
little  things  for  the  boys'  stockings,  but  there  was 
such  a  crowd  even  outside  the  shop,  a  long  line 
stretching  out  into  the  street — one  or  two  soldiers 
permissionnaires,  with  their  babies  on  their 
shoulders,  while  the  mother  held  the  bag  for  the 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915        319 

provisions — that  I  instantly  gave  up  that  idea, 
and  got  my  things  at  another  place.  It  looked 
quite  like  Christmas.  The  shops  were  open  and 
well  lighted.  Some  of  the  fleuristes  had  a  beau- 
tiful show  of  flowers.  People  were  apparently 
buying.  One  lost  for  one  evening  the  impression 
of  the  dark,  empty  streets  we  have  lived  in  so 
long. 

The  patronne  of  the  confectioner's  shop,  which 
was  quite  full,  told  me  they  were  doing  a  fairly 
good  business — much  better  than  last  year. 

I  took  the  things  up  to  the  boys.  They  wanted 
me  to  stay  to  dinner  and  go  to  midnight  mass 
with  them,  but  that  was  not  easy  to  arrange, 
with  no  carriage,  nor  even  servant — so  H.  and  I 
had  a  quiet  dinner  at  home. 

Saturday,  December  25th,  '15. 

I  went  to  the  American  church  and  was  dis- 
appointed not  to  hear  "Hark  the  herald  angels 
sing."  C.  and  the  boys  stopped  to  say  "Merry 
Christmas"  on  their  way  to  breakfast  with  the 
Bonne-maman.  Outrey  appeared  about  2  o'clock 
with  a  taxi,  and  we  went  over  to  get  Mme.  Sallan- 
drouze  and  one  boy.  Charlotte  and  the  other 
one  went  with  Mrs.  Dodge  in  her  auto.  It  was 
a  cold,  drizzling  rain,  but  we  didn't  mind,  and  it 
didn't  take  more  than  an  hour  to  get  to  D. 

We  found  the  hospital  under  arms,  sisters, 
nurses,  and  various  women  employed  in  the  lin- 


320  MY  WAR  DIARY 

gerie  and  kitchen  waiting  in  the  hall.  We  lighted 
the  tree  at  once,  the  two  big  convalescent  soldiers 
helping — all  the  others  had  been  kept  carefully 
away,  so  as  to  have  a  surprise. 

The  tree  was  really  lovely,  all  white,  nothing 
on  it  but  white  candles  and  shining  silver  orna- 
ments. The  packages,  one  for  each  soldier  (120) 
were  piled  up  on  a  table.  Each  package  contained 
a  pair  of  woollen  socks,  a  knife,  tobacco,  choco- 
late, a  pipe  and  pencil  with  a  long  chain  to  go 
in  their  pockets,  which  they  all  like,  two  handker- 
chiefs, and  a  notebook,  agenda,  with  a  picture  of 
Joffre;  oranges,  cakes,  and  an  enormous  cheese 
were  also  spread  out  on  tables. 

When  the  last  candle  was  lighted  the  doors 
were  opened  and  the  men  came  in,  the  grands 
blesses  first,  on  crutches,  with  canes — heads  and 
arms  bandaged.  Three  or  four  carried  by  their 
comrades  on  their  backs,  putting  them  down  so 
gently  on  the  long  cane  chairs  provided  for  them. 
A  soldier-priest  (they  have  been  wonderful  in  this 
war)  just  from  the  front,  with  his  vestment  over 
his  uniform,  made  a  short  prayer,  and  blessed  the 
tree.  The  men  sang  very  well  the  old  Noel  of 
Adam.  Then  Charlotte's  youngest  boy,  Frank, 
recited  very  prettily  the  Noel  of  Th6ophile  Gau- 
thier,  and  Willy,  holding  the  flag  taller  than  he 
was,  sang  the  verses  of  the  "  Marseillaise,"  the 
whole  assembly  joining  in  the  chorus.  Willy  was 
a  little  timid  at  first,  but  the  men  encouraged  him. 


JULY  TO  DECEMBER,  1915         321 

Then  the  distribution  began.  The  boys  had 
two  of  their  girl  friends  to  help  them — Alice  Dodge 
and  Mrs.  Fairman's  granddaughter.  The  pack- 
ages were  all  numbered,  and  it  was  pretty  to  hear 
the  little  childish  voices  calling  out  the  numbers, 
15,  20,  50.  Each  man  (that  could)  stood  up  when 
his  number  was  called  and  saluted,  saying: 
"Present."  It  was  funny  to  see  all  the  big  men 
eating  cakes  and  chocolate  like  schoolboys. 

The  good  sisters  hovered  over  them  all,  taking 
such  good  care  of  the  wounded  men,  lest  they 
should  slip  or  fall. 

When  all  the  candles  were  burning  low,  the 
Pere  Lausan  made  a  short  address,  thanking  the 
ladies  in  the  name  of  the  men  for  the  pleasure 
they  had  given  them — not  only  the  material  part, 
the  packages — but  also  for  the  thought  in  making 
the  f&te  for  them,  sick  and  wounded,  spending 
their  second  "war  Christmas"  in  a  hospital.  The 
tree  would  always  remain  a  bright  spot  in  their 
hearts  and  memories. 

Charlotte  and  Mrs.  Dodge  were  very  pleased; 
they  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  were 
quite  repaid  by  the  smile  on  the  men's  faces,  as 
they  all  filed  out.  Poor  fellows !  I  wonder  where 
they  will  all  be  next  Christmas  ? 

We  had  a  quiet  family  dinner  with  the  Sallan- 
drouzes  and  Henry  Outrey.  Drank  the  health  of 
all  our  soldiers  at  the  front,  and  tried  not  to  miss 
Francis  too  awfully,  nor  to  think  of  the  other 


322  MY  WAR  [DIARY 

Christmases  when  we  were  all  happy,  and  war 
never  crossed  our  brains. 


Wednesday,  December  29th,  '15. 

I  flan6d  a  little  on  the  boulevards  this  after- 
noon. The  poor  little  boutiques  were  not  doing 
a  very  brilliant  business;  but  the  boulevards 
looked  gay.  A  good  many  soldiers,  permission- 
naires,  with  their  families,  were  walking  about; 
some  blind  ones — such  a  sad  sight,  were  being  led 
through  the  crowd,  and  the  patronnes  of  the  bou- 
tiques tried  to  explain  the  toys  to  them.  A  good 
many  people  gave  them  flowers,  violets,  and 
Christmas  roses,  and  that  they  seemed  to  like. 
They  look  very  sad;  but  the  people  who  take 
care  of  them  say  they  are  cheerful. 

Some  one  told  me  a  pretty  story  the  other  da}' 
— a  lady  who  is  a  beautiful  musician  plays  quite 
often  for  the  blind  soldiers  at  one  of  their  hos- 
pitals— the  other  day  she  had  played  all  sorts  of 
things,  marches,  popular  songs,  national  airs. 
Almost  unconsciously  she  started  a  waltz,  and  in 
a  moment  they  were  all  dancing. 

December  31st,  1915. 
Paris  is  certainly  looking  up  a  little.  There 
was  such  a  crowd  again  at  Potin's  this  morning 
that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  getting  in,  and  in 
the  afternoon  some  of  the  famous  chocolate  shops, 
the  Coupe  d'Or  and,  I  think,  Marquis,  put  up 


JANUARY,  1916  323 

their    shutters.     They    had   nothing    left;     were 
quite  unprepared  for  such  a  demand. 

I  dined  at  Mme.  Sallandrouze's  with  Charlotte 
and  the  boys.  We  have  dined  there  for  years  on 
New  Year's  Eve,  and  as  usual,  the  boys  helped 
us  through  the  evening,  as  we  played  games  with 
them.  I  came  home  early  to  finish  the  evening 
with  H.,  taking  Charlotte  and  the  boys  home 
first.  The  streets  were  perfectly  dark.  No  sounds 
of  activity  anywhere.  It  is  just  after  midnight. 
I  hear  no  bells  but  some  clocks  striking  the  hour. 
This  tragic  year  has  finished  with  anguish  and 
mourning  for  so  many  !  I  don't  know  what  191 6 
may  have  in  store  for  us.  Hardly  dare  to  hope. 
But  if  a  great  sorrow  comes  to  us,  we  must  bear 
it,  as  so  many  women  have  in  France — proud  to 
give  their  sons  and  husbands  to  the  country,  but 
always  carrying  the  ache  in  their  hearts. 


PARIS,  JANUARY,  1916 

January  8th. 
Another  tragic  year  is  beginning  with  not  many 
changes.  Thousands  of  homes  desolate,  thou- 
sands of  young  lives  sacrificed.  Germans  still  in 
all  our  most  prosperous  northern  provinces;  still 
in  their  trenches  at  Soissons  near  Compiegne, 
eighty  miles  from  Paris.  In  spite  of  that  we  lead 
an  almost  normal  life,  and  have  got  accustomed 
to  the  horrors  of  war.     Of  course,  one  is  busy  and 


324  MY  WAR  DIARY 

absorbed.  I  really  only  see  the  people  who  work 
with  me  at  my  different  ouvroirs.  I  went  to  tea 
one  afternoon  in  my  ouvroir  dress  at  the  Swedish 
legation.  There  were  not  many  people  there. 
Countess  Granville,  of  the  British  Embassy,  also 
in  her  plain  working  dress.  It  seemed  curious  to 
see  lights  and  men-servants,  and  a  pretty  tea- 
table.  One  has  got  so  entirely  out  of  any  social 
life  of  any  kind.  M.  de  Stuers,  Dutch  Minister, 
was  there.  He  had  just  seen  Reinach,  one  of 
our  clever  political  men,  arrived  from  Salonica, 
and  much  pleased  with  all  he  had  seen.  The 
Allies'  camp  splendid.  They  will  never  be  at- 
tacked. He  also  spoke  most  admiringly  of  Sar- 
rail,  the  French  General  in  command,  a  dashing, 
independent  officer. 

January  14th. 
There  are  all  sorts  of  reports  to-day  about  the 
Kaiser's  illness.  One  doesn't  know  exactly  what 
to  wish.  If  his  death  would  end  the  war  sooner, 
one  would  welcome  the  news.  But  will  it?  To 
us  the  Crown  Prince  seems  absolutely  incompetent, 
but  some  people  say  he  is  strongly  supported  by 
the  "War  Party"  and  "Junkers"  (young  noble- 
men). 

January  20th. 
I  went  to  the  ouvroir  this  afternoon — found  our 
caissiere  (cashier)  rather  nervous  at  being  late, 


JANUARY,  1916  325 

having  just  arrived.  I  thought  she  had  had  bad 
news  of  her  husband,  who  is  at  the  front,  but  she 
explained  why  she  was  late.  She  was  standing 
at  the  door  of  her  house,  with  only  a  shawl  on  her 
shoulders,  no  hat,  when  she  saw  a  hearse  pass, 
with  a  small  coffin,  evidently  a  child,  and  a  soldier 
walking  behind  it  quite  alone,  crying.  She  said 
something,  she  didn't  know  what,  moved  her,  her 
feet  carried  her  out  into  the  street.  She  ran  out, 
slipped  her  arm  in  the  soldier's,  and  walked  along 
with  him.  A  fat  old  concierge  next  door  did  the 
same  thing,  stopping  and  buying  a  few  pennies' 
worth  of  flowers  from  a  cart  as  she  hurried  on, 
to  put  them  on  the  coffin.  Several  other  people 
joined  them,  and  by  the  time  they  got  to  the 
cemetery,  there  were  about  a  dozen  people  walk- 
ing behind  the  hearse.  The  poor  man  was  too 
dazed  at  first  to  speak,  but  finally  told  them  it 
was  his  only  child,  his  wife  was  ill,  and  he  had 
twenty-four  hours'  leave  to  come  and  bury  the 
child.  He  gave  his  name  and  address,  would  be 
so  grateful  if  some  one  would  look  after  his  wife. 
He  was  going  back  to  the  front  that  night. 
Jeanne  went  over  the  next  day,  found  the  poor 
woman  in  a  miserable  little  room,  ill  and  de- 
pressed. A  neighbour  looked  after  her.  Of  course 
the  ouvroir  will  see  that  she  is  properly  cared  for, 
and  try  and  find  some  work  for  her  when  she 
gets  stronger. 


326  MY  WAR  DIARY 

January  24th. 
The  Duchesse  de  Vend6me,  sister  of  the  King 
of  the  Belgians,  came  to  the  ouvroir  to-day  with 
the  Infanta  Eulalie  of  Spain.  She  was  much  in- 
terested in  our  work.  Thought  the  sleeping-bags 
very  good.  They  were  designed  by  Mrs.  Mygatt 
herself,  and  are  much  better  and  more  solid  than 
those  one  finds  in  the  shops.  She  was  very  in- 
terested in  all  the  soldiers  who  came  for  clothes, 
talked  to  them,  and  shook  hands  with  them  all. 
Was  much  amused  with  a  little  Zouave,  who 
looked  about  fifteen  years  old,  with  his  open  collar 
and  fresh  young  face.  He  had  been  detailed  to 
guard  some  German  prisoners.  Had  protested, 
saying  he  wouldn't  keep  them — would  kill  them 
all.  No  one  paid  any  attention  to  his  protesta- 
tions, and  he  was  sent  off  with  a  squad  of  men  to 
look  after  the  Germans.  In  the  night,  he  and 
one  of  his  comrades  got  up  and  cut  off  the  ears 
of  six  of  them.  "Would  Madame  like  to  see  the 
ears  ?  I  have  some  in  my  pocket,"  diving  down 
into  his  pocket  and  producing  a  brown  paper 
parcel.  That  the  Duchesse  hastily  declined,  tell- 
ing him  it  was  wrong  and  unsoldierly  to  muti- 
late unarmed  men.  "Yes,  I  know  that,  Madame; 
they  have  all  told  me  so,  and  I  have  been  pun- 
ished; but  I  shall  do  it  again.  I  will  always 
hurt  and  kill  a  Boche  when  I  can.  Ah,  if  Madame 
could  have  seen  the  things  I  have  seen,"  the  colour 
all  coming  into  his  face  like  an  angry  child  while 


JANUARY,  1916  327 

he  was  talking,  and  keeping  tight  hold  of  his  grim 
parcel.  I  think  he  got  a  very  good  package. 
We  heard  him  still  talking  to  our  women  as  we 
went  back  to  the  big  room,  and  his  last  words 
were:  "Au  revoir,  Mesdames.  Je  ferai  mon 
devoir,  mais  je  tuerai  tous  les  Boches  que  je  ren- 
contrerai."  ("Good-bye,  Mesdames;  I  will  do 
my  duty,  but  I  will  kill  all  the  Boches  I  meet.") 

Francis  came  for  a  short  leave  last  night.  He 
looks  very  well.  Was  too  much  taken  up  the 
first  twenty-four  hours  with  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
his  wife  and  boys  again,  and  being  in  his  own 
house  (with  a' bathroom),  to  tell  us  many  of  his 
experiences  at  the  front.  However,  that  will  come 
later.  I  think,  too,  it  is  a  trait  of  the  Waddington 
men,  perhaps  of  all  men,  never  to  tell  anything 
when  they  are  asked  questions.  When  they  feel 
like  it  they  will  talk  easily  enough.  We  had  a 
Zeppelin  alerte  last  night  about  10  o'clock,  just 
as  we  were  leaving  the  salon.  The  firemen  dashed 
through  our  street  sounding  the  "garde  a  vous," 
but  it  didn't  seem  to  trouble  the  people  very 
much.  All  lights  in  the  street  (there  were  only 
two  very  dim  ones)  and  houses  went  out,  but  the 
people  came  out  on  the  balconies.  Marie  and  I 
did  the  same,  but  we  couldn't  see  anything,  and 
no  one  seemed  at  all  excited.  Our  concierge  and 
our  humble  friend,  proprietor  of  the  restaurant 
at  the  corner  of  the  street  told  us  there  was  no 


328  MY  WAR  DIARY 

danger  in  our  quarter.  We  might  go  to  bed. 
The  restaurateur  (proprietor)  has  occupied  him- 
self with  us  ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
when  the  first  Taube  flew  over  Paris.  Had  his 
cellar  well  arranged  with  rugs  and  lamps,  and 
always  told  us  not  to  be  afraid,  he  would  come 
and  take  us  to  his  cellar,  where  we  would  be  per- 
fectly safe  if  there  should  be  any  real  danger  from 
Taube  or  Zeppelins.  I  always  meant  to  go  and 
see  his  installation,  but  never  seemed  to  find  time. 

January  31st. 
The  days  go  on  regularly  and  monotonously. 
I  went  this  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Boggs  to  the  Am- 
bulance Americaine.  She  with  three  or  four  other 
ladies  gives  tea  there  every  Monday.  Every  day 
some  ladies  give  tea,  which  is  evidently  much  ap- 
preciated as  they  sometimes  give  three  or  four 
hundred  cups.  They  give  tea,  bread,  butter, 
and  cakes.  There  are  no  invitations.  Any  one 
employed  at  the  Ambulance  is  welcome.  It  is  a 
curious  mixed  crowd.  Doctors,  nurses  (ladies  and 
professionals),  chauffeurs,  ambulance-drivers,  or- 
derlies— no  wounded — their  tea  is  taken  up  to 
them.  There  is  every  variety  of  type  from  the 
young,  pretty  American  girl  in  a  spotlessly  white 
dress,  bright-coloured  silk  jersey,  and  a  little  lace 
butterfly  doing  duty  for  a  cap,  on  her  head,  to 
the  comfortable  middle-aged  nurse  in  the  ordi- 
nary Red  Cross  uniform,  sitting  down  for  a  few 


JANUARY,  1916  329 

minutes  to  have  her  tea,  and  then  going  directly- 
back  to  her  work.  They  are  almost  all  English 
and  American  nurses,  volunteers,  though  there  arc 
some  Swiss,  and  I  saw  one  or  two  Dutch  women. 
The  men,  too,  are  of  all  classes.  Yesterday  Abbe 
Klein  was  there.  He  is  the  chaplain  of  the  Am- 
bulance, and  a  charming  man,  clever,  cultivated, 
refined,  devoted  to  the  soldiers.  The  doctors 
come  sometimes,  the  orderlies  often  in  their  white 
jackets,  and  always  drivers  and  stretcher-bearers. 
We  stayed  there  until  5  o'clock,  when  there  were 
no  more  people,  happily,  as  there  were  no  more 
cakes  or  bread.  We  passed  through  one  of  the 
big  wards  on  our  way  out.  It  looked  beautifully 
fresh  and  clean,  and  there  seemed  to  be  plenty  of 
people  to  attend  to  the  wounded.  But,  oh,  the 
pitiful  sight  of  those  long  rows  of  beds,  and  the 
pale  drawn  faces  that  one  passed,  the  men  trying 
to  smile  or  say  something  if  one  stopped  a  mo- 
ment ! 

The  Francis,  all  four,  came  to  dinner — the  boys 
sitting  on  each  side  of  their  father.  He  had  been 
shopping  all  day,  renewing  all  his  clothes  from 
socks  to  cap.  He  says  they  wear  their  uniform 
so  constantly,  night  and  day,  that  they  never  have 
time  to  get  anything  washed  or  mended.  Francis 
told  us  all  sorts  of  things  of  life  in  the  trenches, 
up  to  his  knees  in  water,  or  carrying  despatches 
along  bad  country  roads  at  night,  with  shells 
bursting  all  around  him.     He  says  it  is  melan- 


330  MY  WAR  DIARY 

choly  to  go  back  to  some  of  the  villages  that  have 
been  shelled.  The  Germans  always  seem  to  pick 
out  the  churches,  which  stand  there  roofless,  all 
windows  gone,  merely  the  four  walls  remaining. 
A  ghastly  souvenir  of  this  horrible  war.  Can 
we  ever  give  back  to  them  a  tenth  part  of  the 
harm  they  have  done  us? 


FEBRUARY,  1916 

February  ist. 
It  seems  natural  to  have  Francis  at  home, 
coming  in  and  out,  and  always  bringing  some 
friend  for  a  meal.  Last  night  we  had  a  banquet. 
We  began  with  a  small  dinner,  which  grew  until 
I  wondered  how  we  ever  could  serve  so  many 
people.  It  is  impossible  to  get  an  extra  man  to 
serve;  there  are  none  left;  but  the  two  parlour- 
maids did  very  well,  and  of  course  the  meal 
was  of  the  simplest  description — menu  de  guerre. 
We  had  Francis,  Charlotte,  and  the  two  boys; 
Comte  and  Comtesse  Louis  de  Segur,  very  old 
friends  (he  was  one  of  Francis*  witnesses  when 
he  married);  Comte  and  Comtesse  Bernard  de 
Gontaut,  with  their  son,  a  lieutenant  of  dragoons, 
also  home  on  leave ;  Marquise  de  Talleyrand,  who 
gave  Francis  his  first  rocking-horse  when  he  was 
about  four  days  old ;  and  Baron  de  Grotestin,  of  the 
Dutch  Legation,  an  old  friend.  Segur  has  fifteen 
nephews  and  great-nephews  fighting;  one  is  killed, 


FEBRUARY,  1916  331 

two  badly  wounded.  Francis  and  Guy  de  Gon- 
taut  told  us  all  sorts  of  things  about  their  trench 
experiences.  It  is  astounding  how  men  brought 
up  as  they  have  been  in  every  comfort  can  stand 
the  life — take  it  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  We 
made  music,  of  course,  winding  up  with  all  the 
national  airs  and  patriotic  songs.  Poor  Madame 
de  Gontaut  was  reduced  to  tears.  She  is  very 
sad  since  the  war — Guy,  her  youngest  child  and 
only  son  is  the  apple  of  her  eye.  They  stayed 
very  late,  and  the  two  little  boys  were  so  tired 
that  they  went  sound  asleep  on  a  sofa  in  the 
ante-room,  and  we  had  great  difficulty  in  rousing 
them,  and  getting  them  into  hats  and  coats  to  go 
home. 

Francis  has  gone  back  to  the  front.  He  and 
Charlotte  dined  at  a  hotel  not  far  from  the 
Gare  de  TEst,  and  I  took  the  boys  for  a  run  in 
the  Bois.  Poor  little  things,  they  are  always 
upset  when  their  father  goes  off  and  it  is  pretty 
to  hear  them  promise  to  be  good  and  take  care 
of  mother  when  the  last  good-byes  are  said.  The 
partings  are  hard.  I  wonder  how  many  more  we 
shall  have.  Now  the  long  days  of  waiting  begin 
again.  We  hear  so  little — are  days  without  letters. 
Just  now  all  our  hopes  and  prayers  are  centred 
at  Verdun,  where  the  fighting  is  terrific.  All  the 
great  chiefs,  Joffre,  Castelnau,  are  there,  and  we 
have  seen  one  or  two  officers  who  have  come  back 


332  MY  WAR  DIARY 

wounded.  They  say  the  slaughter  of  the  Ger- 
mans is  terrible;  they  go  down  in  masses  under 
the  great  French  guns,  but  come  steadily  on, 
marching  over  the  bodies  of  their  comrades.  Our 
men  think  they  are  given  ether  or  alcohol  of  some 
kind,  which  goes  to  their  heads  and  makes  them 
crazy — they  come  on  laughing  and  singing  like 
madmen.  Our  losses,  too,  are  very  heavy,  but  we 
don't  see  any  lists  of  killed  or  wounded.  Very 
few  Verdun  wounded  have  come  to  Paris. 

Charlotte  looked  rather  white  when  she  came 
back  from  the  gare.  However,  she  is  a  soldier's 
daughter,  her  whole  heart  is  with  "Fighting 
France,"  and  she  wouldn't  have  her  husband 
anywhere  but  at  the  front.  She  said  the  trains 
were  crowded,  hundreds  of  soldiers  going  back 
and  saying  good-bye  to  their  womankind,  and  that 
all  the  women  were  brave,  no  fear,  no  murmurs. 
The  French  women  have  been  wonderful  ever 
since  the  first  awful  days  of  mobilisation,  when 
suddenly  in  a  few  hours  their  lives  were  completely 
changed — all  their  men  called  to  arms — but  after 
the  first  shock  all  accepted  the  inevitable,  and  set 
to  work  to  replace  the  men  in  farms,  gardens,  mills, 
shops,  and  in  small  trades  of  every  kind. 

Sunday,  23rd. 
I  went  over  to  lunch  with  Bessie  Talleyrand 
to-day.     The  Seine  looked  bright  and  dancing  as 
I  crossed  it.    A  few  flowers  are  coming  up  in  the 


FEBRUARY,  1916  333 

garden.  The  sun  streaming  through  the  big 
windows  of  her  salon.  A  young  Belgian  officer, 
Prince  de  C,  lunched  and  was  most  interesting, 
telling  us  of  much  that  happened  in  Belgium  in 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  Their  chateau  is  almost 
in  Germany,  so  close  to  the  frontier.  He  joined 
the  army  at  once,  but  his  sister  remained  at  the 
chateau  with  a  younger  brother,  where  she  estab- 
lished an  ambulance  with  French,  English,  and 
German  wounded.  She  also  had  a  few  French 
and  English  soldiers  hidden  in  a  tower  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden.  She  and  her  young 
brother  were  in  the  hall  one  afternoon  when  three 
or  four  German  motor-cars,  rilled  with  officers, 
drove  up.  They  all  got  out,  came  into  the  hall, 
and  one  of  them,  a  tall,  good-looking  man,  intro- 
duced himself  as  the  Duke  of  W.  (a  royal  title), 
said  they  would  like  to  dine,  had  their  own  food, 
but  would  like  the  use  of  the  kitchen  and  dining- 
room;  also  that  they  must  search  the  house  as 
they  knew  English  soldiers  were  hidden  there. 
She  said  there  were  none  in  the  house,  trembling 
at  the  thought  of  the  four  or  five  who  were  in  the 
tower.  They  insisted  upon  searching  the  whole 
house,  and  left  a  guard  at  the  door  of  the  hall, 
forbidding  his  sister  and  brother  to  leave  it. 
However,  they  found  no  one,  and  she  heard 
nothing  more  of  them  until  late  in  the  afternoon 
a  young  officer  appeared  with  a  message  from  the 
Duke,  inviting  her  and  her  brother  to  dine  with 


334  MY  WAR  DIARY 

them.  This  she  refused  curtly,  without  giving 
any  excuse,  which  rather  surprised  and  discon- 
certed the  young  officer,  who  retired.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  Duke  appeared,  already  in  a  temper. 
Why  had  she  refused  his  invitation  to  dine  with 
them?  "It  is  quite  impossible,"  she  answered, 
"which  you  will  surely  understand  when  you 
think  about  it."  He  wouldn't  listen  to  her,  in- 
sisted upon  a  reason — so  then  she  replied  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  break  bread  with 
people  whom  she  despised,  soldiers  who  burned 
churches  and  villages,  and  killed  helpless  women 
and  children.  He  flew  into  a  rage,  told  her  to 
hold  her  tongue,  and  banged  out  of  the  hall.  Her 
young  brother  was  frightened,  thought  they  would 
do  something  awful  to  her,  so  a  little  later  when 
one  of  the  younger  officers  asked  him  to  dinner,  he 
thought  he  had  better  go.  The  Germans  all  be- 
haved perfectly  well  at  dinner,  said  nothing  about 
the  war,  talked  weather,  roads,  and  farming  pros- 
pects. He  said  the  dinner  was  very  good.  They 
drank  a  great  deal  of  wine.  They  left  directly 
after  dinner,  with  a  great  noise  of  clanking  sabres, 
spurs,  and  snorting  autos.  Some  days  later  they 
were  warned  that  they  were  being  watched,  and 
the  young  man  was  advised  to  get  out  of  the 
country.  He  succeeded  in  getting  across  the 
frontier,  having  all  sorts  of  adventures.  He  ended 
by  swimming  across  the  canal.  Soon  after  the 
sister  was  carried  cff  to  Brussels  by  the  German 


FEBRUARY,  1916  335 

military  authorities,  who  told  her  she  was  only 
wanted  to  give  evidence  in  the  case  of  Miss  Cavell, 
that  unfortunate  English  nurse  who  was  murdered ; 
would  be  brought  back  at  once  to  her  chateau. 
She  never  got  back,  was  sent  to  prison  in  Ger- 
many, shut  up  in  a  cell,  and  obliged  to  wear 
prison  uniform,  allowed  to  go  out  for  half  an  hour 
every  day  in  the  courtyard,  and  she  is  still  there. 
She  writes  occasionally  to  her  brother.  Lately, 
thanks  to  one  of  the  Cardinals,  she  has  obtained 
certain  mitigations  of  the  strict  prison  discipline, 
can  receive  books — no  papers — and  material  for 
working.  One  of  her  greatest  deprivations  was 
the  want  of  light.  All  lights  were  put  out  in  the 
cells  at  8  o'clock,  and  those  long  hours  of  dark- 
ness were  almost  unbearable.  What  a  life  for  a 
refined  delicate  woman!  However,  those  brutes 
didn't  murder  her  as  they  did  the  poor  English 
nurse.  One  must  be  thankful  for  small  mercies 
in  times  like  these. 

February  28th. 

Our  only  idea  is  Verdun,  where  the  French 
are  fighting  magnificently,  the  Crown  Prince  still 
hurling  masses  of  his  best  troops  on  the  French 
guns. 

We  have  letters  from  the  cure*  at  Mareuil  beg- 
ging us  for  food,  clothes,  everything  for  refugees, 
from  some  of  the  villages  near  Soissons,  and  ask- 
ing us  to  come  down  for  a  day  or  two.     We  can't 


336  MY  WAR  DIARY 

— we  have  no  motor,  and  all  passenger-trains  are 
stopped  on  the  Chemin  de  Per  de  l'Est,  as  they 
are  rushing  troops  to  Verdun. 

These  are  the  last  pages  of  my  War  Diary. 
There  is  so  little  to  say.  Even  the  splendid  de- 
fense of  Verdun  doesn't  mean  the  end  of  the  war, 
and  so  many  books  about  the  great  war  have 
been  written  and  will  be  written  that  the  simple 
details  of  a  family  life  are  hardly  worth  recording. 

When  my  grandsons  come  to  manhood  and 
have  sons  of  their  own,  when  the  world  is  at  peace 
and  the  cannon  hushed,  and  women  are  busy  and 
smiling  in  the  little  hamlets  where  their  mothers 
spent  long  months  and  years  of  suspense  and 
anguish  and  mourning,  they  perhaps  would  like 
to  read  "Granny's"  remembrances  of  the  Great 
War., 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  EXPEDITIONARY 
FORCE 


, 


HAZEBROUCK,  OCTOBER,  1916 

Sitting  at  my  window,  in  a  rather  dark  provin- 
cial hotel,  looking  out  on  a  courtyard  where  one 
tree  stands  up  against  the  grey  northern  sky,  the 
wind  always  howling  dismally,  and  the  tree  sway- 
ing in  a  perfect  tempest — I  ask  myself  if  I  am  the 
same  person  who,  a  few  days  ago,  was  spending 
long  happy  hours  at  a  lovely  island  just  off  the 
coast  of  Vendee.  I  used  to  lie  out  on  the  warm 
dry  sand,  my  head  on  a  heap  of  seaweed,  seeing 
nothing  but  the  blue  sky  overhead,  the  sea  at 
my  feet,  a  few  pleasure-boats  drifting  leisurely 
along.  There  were  no  fishing-boats,  for  the  men 
are  mobilised,  and  now  the  women  do  a  great 
deal  and  replace  their  husbands  in  many  ways. 
I  have  not  heard  of  any  who  have  ventured  forth 
on  a  fishing  cruise,  which  was  the  great  occupa- 
tion and  resource  of  the  island. 

Except  for  the  total  absence  of  men  (save  very 
very  old  ones),  there  is  nothing  to  indicate  that 
a  great  war  is  going  on.  There  are  no  soldiers, 
no  wounded,  no  hospitals.  The  women  all  knit, 
trudging  alongside  of  their  donkeys;  and  life  in 
all  classes  flows  as  easily  and  placidly  as  possible. 

I  left  suddenly,  called  away  by  the  illness  of  a 
grandson,  to  this  place  in  the  extreme  north  of 
France.     Even  now,  it  all  seems  a  dream.     The 

339 


34° 


MY  WAR  DIARY 


long,  weary  journey  with  so  many  changes  of 
vehicles  that  I  think  a  balloon  would  not  have 
seemed  unnatural,  the  long  wait  at  Nantes,  in 
the  dark  station,  the  only  lights  being  at  the  office 
of  the  chef  de  gare  and  the  ticket-office,  for  a 
crowded  train  so  taken  by  assault  at  once  by  trav- 
ellers and  above  all  soldiers  returning  from  their 
leave,  that  it  seemed  useless  even  to  think  of 
getting  in.  However,  thanks  to  Mr.  P.,  whom 
we  met  at  the  station,  and  who  really  pushed  us 
on  to  the  platform,  we  did  manage  to  find  our  two 
places,  the  only  unoccupied  ones. 

The  couloir  was  crowded  with  people  sitting  up 
all  night  on  bags,  rugs,  the  bare  floor.  We  rather 
remonstrated  with  the  railway  official  who  came 
for  the  tickets  and  who  looked  harassed  and  de- 
pressed. He  said  they  could  do  nothing;  every- 
thing was  in  the  hands  of  the  military;  everything 
for  the  army  came  first,  men,  munitions,  and  that 
it  was  not  a  time  for  civilians  to  travel.  He  was 
quite  right.  It  is  not !  But  when  we  suggested 
that  they  might  put  on  another  carriage,  or  at 
least  not  sell  tickets,  when  he  knew  there  were  no 
more  places,  he  jeered  at  us;  said  they  had  no 
"extra  carriages,"  and  if,  when  the  train  arrived 
at  Nantes,  it  was  requisitionne  by  the  military 
authorities,  all  the  civilians  would  be  put  out  and 
left  on  the  quay — at  10  o'clock  at  night. 

I  had  two  hurried  days  in  Paris  trying  to  get  a 
passport  and  sauf -conduit  for  Hazebrouck  (which 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  341 

I  didn't  get),  but  they  were  very  kind  at  the  For- 
eign Office,  and  gave  me  a  laissez-passer,  which  I 
think  would  have  carried  me  through  even  with- 
out the  famous  blue  paper  of  the  Grand  Quartier 
General. 

Mr.  Cambon  said  he  would  telephone  at  once 
to  one  of  his  friends  at  the  Grand  Quartier,  to  tell 
the  military  authorities  at  Calais  to  let  me  pass. 
It  was  a  long  journey;  takes  five  hours  in  ordi- 
nary times,  but  I  was  en  route  for  thirteen  hours; 
left  Paris  at  9.30  and  got  to  Hazebrouck  at  10.30 
next  day. 

The  train,  a  very  long  one,  was  crowded  with 
British  soldiers.  After  Amiens,  we  really  went 
through  an  enormous  British  camp,  thousands  of 
tents  and  barraques.  It  was  a  fine  day,  and  we 
saw  every  variety  of  English  life;  nurses  walking 
about  in  couples,  officers  playing  tennis,  soldiers 
at  football.  Long  lines  of  cavalry  with  very  good 
horses.  A  military  funeral;  men  marching  with 
arms  reversed;  endless  fourgons  with  munitions 
and  food  and  cannon.  The  men  generally  very 
fine-looking,  very  smart  in  their  short  jackets 
(so  unlike  our  long  French  tunics),  which  give 
them  an  extraordinary  length  of  limb. 

They  were  principally  young  men;  I  don't 
think  they  had  done  much  fighting  yet.  Their 
uniforms  and  boots  looked  clean. 

We  got  to  Calais  about  5,  and  had  two  hours' 
wait  there.    The  station  was  a  curiosity — a  solid 


342  MY  WAR  DIARY 

mass  of  khaki-dressed  men  coming  and  going, 
whistling  gaily,  making  all  sorts  of  jokes  with  every 
one.  I  didn't  hear  "Tipperary."  That  seems  to 
have  passed  for  the  moment. 

We  had  to  go  at  once  to  the  room  where  papers 
were  examined  by  the  military  authorities,  who 
were  very  stiff  and  curt.  I  was  a  little  uncom- 
fortable, knowing  mine  were  not  en  r&gle. 

There  were  two  trains,  just  one  for  Dunkerque 
and  later  Hazebrouck.  A  nice-looking  woman, 
a  lady,  who  was  going  to  Dunkerque,  was  not 
allowed  to  pass;  her  papers  not  right.  She  pro- 
tested vigorously;  said  the  commissaire  de  police 
had  told  her  everything  was  quite  en  r&gle.  But 
the  officer  was  inexorable.  "We  have  our  orders, 
Madame;  we  cannot  let  you  pass!" 

The  poor  thing  was  bitterly  disappointed; 
didn't  know  where  to  go  in  Calais  for  the  night. 
She  asked  me  if  I  was  going  to  Dunkerque.  "No, 
to  Hazebrouck."  "You  will  never  be  allowed 
to  pass,  Madame";  but  I  told  her  I  thought  I  was 
all  right. 

I  gave  the  maid,  who  had  her  sauf -conduit,  my 
laissez-passer  and  papiers  d'identite,  but  I  didn't 
feel  quite  happy  until  I  heard  the  officer  say: 
"C'est  tres  bien;  nous  avons  recu  des  ordres  de 
faire  passer  Mme.  Waddington." 

We  had  two  hours  to  wait;  couldn't  go  out  of 
the  gare;  but  the  buffet  at  Calais  is  very  good, 
and  we  had  a  very  nice  simple  dinner. 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  343 

When  I  asked  for  cold  chicken,  the  man  was 
much  taken  aback,  saying  they  hadn't  had  any 
chickens  for  weeks. 

There  was  a  big  table  d'hdte  for  British  officers. 

I  started  again  about  7.  Again  a  very  long 
crowded  train,  stopping  at  all  the  little  stations. 
None  of  them  were  lighted.  People  scrambled 
out  in  the  dark  as  well  as  they  could,  carrying 
bags  and  bundles. 

One  poor  woman  with  a  wounded  son  with  her, 
who  was  going  to  St.  Omer,  thought  they  had  ar- 
rived at  their  destination,  and  got  out  at  one  of 
the  small  stations;  was  much  put  out  that  "Jean," 
whom  she  called,  was  not  there  to  meet  her;  and 
had  just  time  before  the  train  started  to  climb  in 
again.  St.  Omer  was  two  stations  farther  on. 
The  poor  boy  looked  so  weak  and  tired,  as  if  he 
couldn't  stand  much  more.  However,  at  St. 
Omer,  Jean  with  a  lantern  and  quite  a  group  of 
friends  were  waiting,  and  he  seemed  all  right. 

We  didn't  move  as  we  had  been  told  the  train 
didn't  go  any  further  than  Hazebrouck.  It  was 
not  quite  so  dark  there,  but  it  was  such  a  long  train 
that  we  had  some  little  distance  to  walk  before 
we  were  hailed  by  Francis  (whose  voice  told  me 
at  once  that  the  boy  was  better,  before  I  could 
ask  any  questions),  and  one  or  two  officers,  who 
took  our  papers  and  passed  us  at  once,  without 
making  the  long  wait  at  the  bureau  where  the 
sauf -conduits  and  other  papers  are  examined. 


344  MY  WAR  DIARY 

The  hotel  was  just  opposite  the  station,  and  we 
walked  across.  Mme.  S.  was  waiting  for  me. 
My  room  was  next  to  hers;  we  all  talked  together 
for  a  few  minutes.  Then  Francis  came  into  my 
room  and  we  talked  until  midnight.  The  child 
has  been  desperately  ill  with  infantile  paralysis, 
but  his  life  is  saved  now.  The  great  question  is 
how  he  will  get  over  it.  The  left  arm  is  paralysed ; 
the  neck  and  shoulders,  too,  quite  stiff;  but  the 
brain  is  quite  clear.  The  poor  children  have 
had  a  terribly  anxious  ten  days.  They  say  noth- 
ing can  describe  the  kindness  of  the  British  doc- 
tors and  nurses,  of  everybody,  in  fact.  The  in- 
firmieres  and  religieuses  of  the  Croix  Rouge  have 
been  very  good  to  them. 

My  first  visit  to  the  hospital  was  sad  enough. 
The  French  Croix  Rouge  have  their  salles  on  the 
first  floor  of  the  College  St.  Jacques,  and  on  the 
story  above,  up  a  very  steep  flight  of  steps,  our 
little  Frank  and  his  mother  are  installed  in  two 
bare,  high,  comfortless  rooms,  with  windows  so 
high  that  we  had  to  get  a  chair  to  look  out.  How- 
ever, they  were  very  glad  to  have  even  them,  as 
it  was  very  difficult  to  find  anything.  The  town 
is  crowded  with  British  troops  and  refugees. 

I  found  the  poor  little  boy  much  changed,  so 
thin,  and  his  face  drawn,  but  not  suffering,  and 
his  head  quite  right.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  the 
quiet  little  figure  so  helpless  and  unlike  himself. 

He  has  nice  English  nurses,  day  and  night,  and 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  345 

likes  them  very  much  with  their  helpful  ways  and 
gentle  voices. 

Dr.  S.,  the  English  doctor,  is  perfectly  devoted 
to  him,  comes  three  times  a  day,  and  is  so  gentle 
with  him.  His  room  opens  into  a  dortoir  (awful), 
with  its  rows  of  beds  and  stools  without  any  backs, 
at  the  side  of  each  bed.  A  long  table  runs  down 
the  middle  of  the  room. 

They  had  cleared  off  one  end,  and  there  Char- 
lotte made  her  tea,  and  the  English  nurses  the 
little  soups  and  jellies  which  the  boy  likes. 

The  first  few  days  were  bewildering.  I  saw  so 
many  people.  It  is  still  a  confused  memory. 
The  doctors,  the  infirmi&res,  the  abb£,  directeur 
of  the  College  St.  Jacques,  the  religieuses,  the 
infirmi&res-majors.  One  of  them,  a  tall,  fine- 
looking  woman,  one  of  the  important  ladies  of  the 
place,  in  the  white  nursing  dress  and  coiffe  and 
beautiful  diamonds  in  her  ears — the  day-nurse, 
Sister  P.,  passing  backward  and  forward  in  her 
grey  dress,  the  little  cape  bound  in  red.  The 
directress  of  all  the  British  nurses  (some  Red 
Cross,  some  Territorial,  some  Military)  is  Sister 
S.  R.,  an  absolute  femme  du  monde,  with  a  charm- 
ing manner  and  most  energetic  and  capable. 
One  or  two  visitors  from  the  town  who  came  to 
see  Charlotte.  The  visitors  always  remained  in 
the  dortoir,  some  sitting  on  the  stools,  some  on 
the  beds.  And  the  wonderful  cooking  creatures — 
a  femme  de  menage,  a  refugiee  from  Armenti&res. 


346  MY  WAR  DIARY 

She  looked  like  a  savage;  had  no  particular  fea- 
tures— lumps  all  over  her  face,  and  a  gruff  voice 
like  a  man's. 

We  are  in  the  firing-line,  but  are  not  bom- 
barded. The  place  is  not  important  enough,  but 
from  Armentieres  and  the  neighbouring  villages, 
which  are  bombarded  all  the  time,  groups  of 
refugees  come  almost  every  day,  and  they  tell 
us  the  misery  is  appalling — the  town  overcrowded 
with  frightened,  helpless  women  and  children. 

We  left  the  hospital  generally  a  little  before  6; 
and  I  think  I  shall  never  forget  those  first  walks 
back  to  the  hotel.  Quite  dark;  the  great  place 
just  lighted  enough  "to  see  how  dark  it  was,  and 
always  autos  and  big  lorries  dashing  about. 

As  the  days  went  on  and  I  felt  happier  about 
the  child,  I  found  much  that  was  interesting.  It 
was  curious  to  live  in  this  quaint  little  northern 
French  town,  really  more  Flemish  than  French, 
with  its  narrow,  pointed  houses,  red  roofs,  and 
canal  wandering  through  low  green  meadows — 
and  yet  to  feel  oneself  in  an  English  garrison. 
The  town  is  under  British  martial  law.  They 
control  everything.  Big  soldiers  with  M.  P. 
("Military  Police")  on  their  caps,  stand  in  all 
the  main  streets  to  direct  the  traffic;  and  it  is 
funny  to  see  them  standing  absolutely  calm  and 
imperturbable  when  torrents  of  invectives  are 
hurled  at  them  by  indignant  natives  in  their  coun- 
try carts,  in  an  absolutely  unintelligible  jargon. 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  347 

I  asked  one  of  them  the  other  day  if  he  had 
learned  any  French.  "Not  much,  but  it  doesn't 
matter,  Madame.  We  make  them  understand; 
and  we  don't  mind  their  talking;  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  it." 

The  shops  are  what  one  would  find  in  any 
English  provincial  town — food  (jam,  of  course, 
of  all  kinds),  clothes,  beds,  illustrated  papers. 
The  "Tommies"  seem  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
the  townspeople.  They  pay  well  for  everything 
they  take;  and  the  doctors  are  very  kind  to  the 
refugees,  sick  and  wounded. 

There  are  a  great  many  Anzacs  (Australians 
and  New  Zeelanders)  in  the  streets.  They  are 
not  so  military-looking  as  the  correct,  well  set  up 
"Tommy" — but  they  are  a  fine  lot  of  men,  gen- 
erally tall,  broad-shouldered  and  young.  They 
swing  along  at  an  easy  pace,  their  big  hats  turned 
up  on  one  side,  their  jackets  rather  loose,  high 
boots,  and  enormous  spurs.  They  say  they  are 
splendid  fighters.  Their  record  is  a  fine  one; 
but  they  are  pretty  hard  to  manage,  with  no  idea 
of  military  6tiquette  or  "difference  of  rank." 

One  of  the  officers  (they  are  generally  English, 
the  higher  ones),  remonstrated  with  a  soldier  the 
other  day  for  not  saluting  a  colonel.  The  man 
promptly  replied:  "He  would  not  salute  any 
more  colonels;  he  had  saluted  two  the  other  day 
who  had  not  returned  it,  and  he  was  going  to  salute 
no  more!" 


348  MY  WAR  DIARY 

I  was  amused  with  some  of  them  I  met  the 
other  day  in  a  shop.  I  and  several  other  people 
were  buying  fruit,  grapes,  pears.  The  patronne 
showed  us  a  fine  bunch  of  white  grapes.  They 
looked  very  good,  firm  and  yellow  where  the  sun 
had  touched  them.  "How  much?"  said  one  of 
the  men.  "Three  francs  fifty,"  replied  the 
woman.  Upon  which  the  man  broke  into  a  loud 
peal  of  incredulous  laughter,  saying:  "You  won't 
sell  any  at  that  price.  In  my  country,  we  get  a 
big  basket  full  for  one  shilling,"  and  he  and  his 
companions  went  off  whistling  and  laughing,  but 
declining  absolutely  any  purchases. 

Our  hotel  is  opposite  to  the  gare.  Every  day 
we  see  troops  coming  and  going.  The  other  day 
quite  a  large  contingent  of  British  and  Australians 
arrived.  The  British  waited  quite  still — a  long 
khaki .  line  just  outside  the  station,  while  their 
officers  parleyed  with  the  railway  men.  The  Aus- 
tralians, hardly  a  second;  they  jumped  over  the 
barriers,  pushed  aside  the  employes,  and  were  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  and  in  all  the  cafes  like 
lightning.  They  are  as  agile  as  monkeys ;  vaulted 
over  the  fences  and  slipped  in  and  out  of  the  quan- 
tities of  motors  and  big  carts  without  slackening 
their  pace.  They  ran  as  hard  as  they  could  out 
of  the  station. 

The  gare  is  always  crowded  all  day  and  all 
night,  as  there  is  a  constant  passage  of  troops. 
When  they  stop  for  three  or  four  hours  only  to 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  349 

rest  and  eat,  the  streets  are  most  animated,  and 
the  shops,  patissier,  tobacco,  postal-cards  and 
picture-papers  do  a  roaring  business.  But  it  is 
quite  different  when  the  trains  with  wounded  ar- 
rive. The  grey  Red  Cross  ambulances  are  drawn 
up  close  to  the  station,  and  one  sees  the  ghastly  bur- 
dens that  the  big  "Tommies"  bring  out  so  gently. 

One  day  the  station  was  shut  all  day.  No 
passenger-trains  (there  is  only  one,  morning  and 
evening)  were  allowed  to  start.  Some  one  told 
us  afterward  that  "tanks"  were  passing.  I  don't 
suppose  we  should  understand  much  if  we  did 
see  some — still  one  likes  to  have  an  idea  of  all 
the  new  infernal  war  engines,  and  these  seem 
terrible. 

When  one  remembers  the  old  days  when  one 
spoke  of  a  possible  great  continental  war,  every- 
body said  all  would  be  over  in  a  few  months. 
The  new  killing  inventions  were  so  awful  that  in 
a  few  weeks  there  would  be  no  men  left  on  either 
side.  And  now,  in  October,  191 6,  we  are  getting 
ready  for  a  third  winter  in  the  trenches,  making 
warm  clothes  and  trying  to  keep  up  our  courage. 
But  at  night,  when  we  are  comfortable  in  bed, 
and  the  rain  and  wind  are  beating  against  the 
window-panes,  we  wonder  how  much  more  our 
poor  men  can  stand  ! 

To-day,  it  is  bright  and  mild,  the  sun  not  too 
pale,   really  shining,   and  Hazebrouck  appeared 


350  MY  WAR  DIARY 

quite  different.  It  is  market-day,  and  the  great 
place  is  covered  with  stalls  and  vehicles;  and  the 
British  and  Anzacs  are  wandering  about  and 
buying. 

It  is  certainly  the  great  day  here.  Our  patronne 
asked  us  last  night  if  we  would  please  breakfast 
somewhere  else  this  morning,  at  one  of  the  caf6s 
on  the  place,  or  perhaps  with  M.  l'Abb6  at  the 
College  St.  Jacques  (Charlotte  took  all  her  meals 
in  the  refectoire  of  the  College  as  long  as  they 
were  living  there,  at  the  abbe's  table,  on  a  platform 
from  which  he  could  dominate  the  classes  when 
the  boys  were  there),  as  she  couldn't  give  us  the 
private  dining-room  we  always  had. 

For  years,  twenty  I  think  she  said,  certain 
clients  had  always  breakfasted  in  that  room  on 
market-days.  The  poor  lady  was  quite  worried 
in  her  mind ;  but  we  compromised  by  saying  that 
we  would  breakfast  early,  at  eleven. 

We  stopped  at  the  patissiere's,  a  very  good  one, 
to  order  some  brioches  for  tea,  and  she  showed 
us,  with  much  pride,  a  table  in  the  inner  room 
covered  with  most  appetising  cakes.  She  said 
she  was  always  very  busy  on  market-days,  and 
made  a  great  many  cakes  and  tarts.  But  that 
now,  since  the  English  were  here,  she  made  twice 
as  many,  and  often  had  to  shut  her  shop  at  6 
o'clock  when  she  had  nothing  left. 

She  advised  us  to  take  our  cakes  at  once  as 
she  knew  she  could  not  keep  them :  ' '  Ces  messieurs 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  351 

prennent  tout  et  ne  raisonnent  pas*1  ("These 
gentlemen  take  everything  without  discussing"). 

We  thought  her  advice  good,  and  carried  off 
our  cakes. 

As  usual,  the  English  impose  their  habits 
wherever  they  are :  their  church  services,  5-0'clock 
tea  in  all  classes,  their  tennis,  their  football,  quite 
simply,  with  an  absolute  disregard  of  the  customs 
of  the  country. 

I  suppose  there  are  no  two  nations  so  unlike 
as  the  French  and  the  British;  but  I  think  this 
war  will  bring  about  a  better  understanding  be- 
tween the  two  countries,  each  one  recognising 
the  other's  qualities,  the  splendid  fighting  and 
endurance  on  both  sides.  But  they  fight  differ- 
ently, as  they  do  everything  else. 

We  have  finally  found  charming  rooms  for 
Charlotte  and  her  boy.  She  couldn't  remain  any 
longer  in  her  garret  at  St.  Jacques,  as  the  holidays 
were  over  and  the  boys  are  coming  back  to  school 
(poor  little  wretches,  to  sleep  in  that  awful  dor- 
toir).  We  all,  including  Mme.  de  L.,  who  came 
in  from  her  place  two  or  three  times  to  see  C. 
before  she  went  off  to  Paris,  saw  all  the  houses 
and  lodgings  that  were  left  in  the  town,  but 
nothing  was  at  all  tempting.  One  clean  little 
bourgeois  house  down  by  the  canal,  well  exposed 
(when  there  was  any  sun,  it  would  come  there), 
we  had  almost  decided  upon,  but  Dr.  S.  objected 


352  MY  WAR  DIARY 

so  vigorously  that  we  didn't  like  to  go  against 
his  opinion. 

There  are  some  very  nice  houses  with  a  long, 
low  facade  on  the  street,  and  very  big  gardens 
running  off  at  a  great  distance  behind;  but,  of 
course,  they  were  all  occupied  by  British  officers. 
However,  Dr.  S.  had  one  in  his  head,  where 
Major  D.,  the  British  "Town  Major"  lives. 
Francis  and  Charlotte  went  to  see  it,  and  were 
delighted.  A  good  large  house,  with  a  lovely 
garden,  but  they  didn't  think  they  would  be  able 
to  get  it.  Finally  after  many  negotiations,  the 
thing  was  arranged.  C.  saw  the  Town  Major  and 
the  proprietaire,  a  nice  woman — and  she  has  four 
good  rooms.  Major  L.  most  kindly  gave  up  his 
bureau,  a  large  high  room  opening  on  the  ve- 
randa and  the  garden;  said  his  things  should  be 
taken  away  at  once. 

There  is  a  sort  of  a  serre,  or  winter  garden  all 
closed  in  with  glass  on  one  side  of  the  bureau, 
and  two  good  bedrooms  up-stairs. 

The  English  officers,  staff,  interpreter,  etc.,  oc- 
cupy the  rest  of  the  house.  It  is  very  well  situ- 
ated in  an  open  part  of  the  town;  and  to-day,  as 
I  am  sitting  writing  in  C.'s  salon,  one  couldn't 
want  anything  prettier.  The  garden  is  full  of 
flowers,  all  in  bloom,  roses,  begonias,  geraniums, 
with  a  very  good  stretch  of  lawn  and  a  tennis- 
court.  It  is  really  a  very  sheltered  spot.  They 
call  it  in  the  town  "La  petite  Nice." 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  353 

It  was  a  little  difficult  at  first  making  the  winter 
garden  comfortable,  but  people  lent  some  tables 
and  screens,  the  Major  a  chaise  longue  and  we 
added  small  tables  and  chairs ;  and  with  some  Tur- 
key-red table-covers,  photographs,  and  a  writing- 
table  it  really  looks  quite  nice. 

C.  has  made  friends  with  the  gardener,  who  keeps 
her  well  supplied  with  flowers  and  a  few  vegetables. 

It  is  interesting  to  live,  so  to  speak,  with  the 
army.  All  day,  soldiers  and  civilians  pour  into 
the  courtyard  and  veranda.  The  English  bu- 
reaux are  quite  at  the  other  end  of  the  veranda, 
and  the  men  and  visitors  don't  get  near  our  end. 
We  only  see  tall  soldiers  moving  about  and  don't 
hear  anything.  One  can  hardly  believe  one  is  in 
a  house  full  of  men.  C.  feels  very  well  guarded. 
The  gas  burns  all  night  in  the  corridor,  and  there 
are  always  people  about.  Francis,  who  is  twenty 
miles  away,  nearer  the  front,  comes  about  once  a 
week  for  twenty-four  hours,  sometimes  on  horse- 
back, sometimes  on  a  bicycle.  But  he  is  very  busy : 
all  sorts  of  local  questions  come  up  all  the  time, 
and  of  course  his  Anzacs  don't  speak  one  word  of 
French.  There  is  a  stable  in  the  courtyard  where 
he  puts  his  horse. 

The  first  time  he  came  without  letting  us  know, 
so,  naturally,  nothing  was  ready.  However,  some 
of  the  English  orderlies  brought  straw  and  water, 
and  C.'s  beautiful  femme  de  menage  went  out  for 
oats  and  hay. 


354  MY  WAR  DIARY 

He  always  dines  at  the  British  mess,  as  the 
cooking  arrangements  in  the  villa  are  of  the  most 
elementary  character. 

One  end  of  the  winter  garden  (it  is  a  very  long 
room),  is  cut  off  with  a  high  wooden  screen,  and 
behind  that  C.  has  a  gas-stove  (which  the  proprie- 
tress of  the  villa  left  here  when  she  went  away) 
and  a  big  petroleum-lamp.  Two  long  tables  and 
a  variety  of  kettles  and  saucepans. 

Her  woman  and  Sister  D.  make  all  the  little 
jellies,  and  cook  an  occasional  chop  which  the 
boy  wants. 

She  has  also  made  great  friends  with  the  bou- 
chere  across  the  street,  who  told  her  one  day  she 
would  make  her  dinner  and  send  it  over  to  her. 
She  had  been  a  cook  herself,  knew  all  about  it. 
Would  Madame  come  and  see  her  kitchen?  C. 
said  it  was  beautifully  clean,  so  she  accepted,  and 
the  woman  sends  her  over  very  good  soup,  chops, 
filet,  anything  she  wants. 

Francis  dined  one  night  (for  a  wonder  didn't 
ask  any  one) 'and  said  he  hadn't  had  such  a  good 
dinner  since  the  war. 

There  is  a  large  old-fashioned  Flemish  kitchen 
opening  into  the  courtyard,  as  they  all  do  here, 
with  a  fireplace  big  enough  to  roast  an  ox.  But 
the  English  have  it.  Enfin,  a  la  guerre  comme  a 
la  guerre!  They  are  camping  and  not  at  all 
badly  off.  The  boy  is  very  happy  in  his  big 
room.     His  bed  is  drawn  up  to  the  open  window, 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  355 

and  he  loves  to  see  the  flowers  and  the  gardener 
at  work.  When  it  gets  too  dark  to  see  anything, 
he  knows  all  the  steps;  the  doctor  who  is  very 
good  to  him,  his  father's  horse  in  the  courtyard, 
and  above  all  the  quick  light  step  of  Sister  D.,  his 
English  nurse. 

I  can't  say  enough  about  the  English  nurses, 
particularly  the  military  nurses.  In  fact,  the 
whole  English  equipment  is  wonderful;  all  the 
details  so  well  carried  out.  What  they  have  done 
since  the  beginning  of  the  war  is  admirable. 
When  one  thinks  that  they  had  practically  no 
army,  and  that  everything  had  to  be  organised ! 

Francis  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  a  nurse. 
He  telegraphed  to  Lord  Bertie,  the  British  Am- 
bassador, and  to  various  people  in  Paris,  but  the 
formalities  were  endless.  It  seems  the  British 
are  very  strict  about  having  their  lines  entered. 
Finally  one  of  the  high  officers  here  telegraphed 
for  a  military  nurse  from  London.  She  was  told 
one  afternoon  she  must  leave  the  next  morning 
for  France  to  nurse  a  serious  case  at  Hazebrouck. 
She  crossed  to  Boulogne  in  a  troop-ship,  stood  all 
the  way  over — they  were  packed  like  sardines — 
found  an  ambulance  waiting  for  her  at  Boulogne, 
and  came  straight  off  to  Hazebrouck — three  hours' 
run.  Francis  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the 
hospital;  saw  the  nurse  arrive;  couldn't  believe 
it  was  his  nurse — as  she  had  only  been  telegraphed 
for  the  day  before,  but  went  to  see  if  he  could  help 


356  MY  WAR  DIARY 

her  as  she  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in 
making  herself  understood  in  French. 

She  told  him  she  was  Sister  D.,  had  left  Lon- 
don that  morning,  and  was  told  to  come  to  Haze- 
brouck  to  nurse  a  serious  case  in  Mr.  Waddington's 
family.  "I'm  Mr.  Waddington,"  he  said;  "and 
you  are  to  nurse  my  boy."  He  took  her  directly 
up-stairs — said  in  half  an  hour  she  was  installed 
— didn't  mind  apparently  the  very  primitive,  un- 
comfortable surroundings,  hardly  wanted  a  cup 
of  tea. 

They  are  mobilised  like  soldiers.  She  came 
with  her  rations  and  her  kit-bed;  had  no  idea  if 
she  was  coming  to  a  camp  or  a  tent  or  a  hospital. 

She  hadn't  been  half  an  hour  in  the  room  when 
a  soldier  appeared  bringing  her  her  billet  de  loge- 
ment  for  the  next  day.  She  is  a  night-nurse. 
She  got  all  her  instructions  from  the  doctor,  ar- 
ranged herself  on  the  table  in  the  dortoir  all  she 
might  need  for  the  night,  made  friends  with  the 
child;  and  his  poor  mother  went  to  bed  with  a 
feeling  of  comfort  and  security  she  hadn't  known 
for  days. 

The  day-nurse  too  (she  is  a  Territorial,  not  Red 
Cross)  is  most  competent,  and  they  are  both  so 
cheerful.  They  have  all  passed  an  examination 
for  simple  cooking,  and  can  make  the  soups  and 
jellies  that  an  invalid  wants. 

I  wish  we  had  such  an  organisation  in  our  mili- 
tary hospitals ;  but  those  schools  of  trained  nurses 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  357 

don't  exist  in  France.  Of  late  years  it  has  been 
rather  the  fashion  for  the  femmes  du  monde  to 
pass  examinations  for  the  Croix  Rouge,  and  I 
believe  there  are  some  excellent  nurses;  but  they 
are  not  numerous  and  all  voluntary.  The  French- 
woman ought  to  be  a  good  nurse.  She  occupies 
herself  so  much  with  her  household  and  her  chil- 
dren, going  into  eyery  detail. 

It  was  pouring  the  other  day.  I  believe  it 
always  rains  in  these  northern  towns.  The  big 
place  was  like  a  lake.  I  tried  in  vain  to  get  a 
pair  of  india-rubbers  but  couldn't,  and  was  very 
uncomfortable  in  my  wet  shoes. 

Sister  S.  R.,  the  head  of  the  British  nurses, 
came  to  see  us — wonderfully  equipped.  She  had 
on  a  long  black  mackintosh  (tarpaulin,  like  what 
the  sailors  wear),  with  big  pockets  and  a  hood,  and 
high  rubber  boots.  She  left  her  mackintosh  out- 
side, and  came  in  in  her  white  clothes,  looking  as 
clean  and  dry  as  if  it  were  a  sunshiny  June  day. 
She  told  us  she  had  done  all  the  campaign  of  the 
Yser  in  a  field-hospital,  at  the  front,  and  that  she 
never  could  have  done  it  without  the  rubber  coat 
and  particularly  the  boots.  The  soft  black  mud 
was  something  awful;  they  really  went  in  up  to 
their  knees.  They  lived  in  tents  and  had  to  go 
backward  and  forward  to  the  hospital  and  the 
sanitary  trains. 

She  said  she  never  could  have  imagined  any- 
thing so  awful  as  the  wounded  men  who  were 


358  MY  WAR  DIARY 

brought  in.  Bundles  of  mud,  their  clothes  stiff 
with  blood  and  dirt  of  all  descriptions.  Those 
who  had  been  only  lying  out  one  night  in  the 
battle-field,  in  good  condition  compared  to  those 
who  had  remained  sometimes  forty-eight  hours. 

She  was  most  interesting,  and  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  as  she  sat  there  on  a  bed,  or  a  stool,  in 
the  dortoir,  with  her  fine  profile  and  ''grand  air," 
that,  after  all,  blood  tells,  and  that  the  gently- 
born  lady  accommodates  herself  better  than  the 
ordinary  woman  to  all  the  discomforts  and 
dangers  that  a  field-nurse  is  exposed  to.  Of  course 
there  must  be  the  vocation,  or  else  the  strong 
faith  that  one's  life  is  not  one's  own  at  such  a 
time,  but  in  God's  hands,  to  be  sacrificed  when 
the  time  comes. 

I  am  thinking  of  a  nurse  we  were  all  so  fond  of, 
who  left  Paris  to  go  and  take  charge  of  a  hospital 
at  Mosch,  where  shells  were  falling  freely.  She 
had  a  young  religieuse  with  her  who  was  nervous, 
frightened  of  the  shells,  couldn't  make  up  her 
mind  to  leave  the  shelter  of  the  house  and  ven- 
ture out  into  the  open.  Our  good  sister  encour- 
aged her,  and  one  afternoon  they  left  the  house 
together.  Our  sister  was  struck  instantly,  killed 
at  once  by  a  passing  shell.  They  gave  her  a 
soldier's  funeral,  with  the  flag  covering  the  coffin. 
Her  memory  lives  in  many  hearts. 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  359 

Sunday. 

I  almost  felt  as  if  I  was  really  in  England.  I 
stepped  in  at  the  church  of  St.  Eloi  on  my  way 
to  see  the  children.  It  is  a  fine  old  church,  stand- 
ing in  a  green  close  like  so  many  of  the  English 
cathedrals.  There  were  a  good  many  men  in 
church,  two  Scottish  soldiers  in  kilts  kneeling  on 
the  stone  pavement,  most  devout.  I  was  sur- 
prised. One  doesn't  think  of  Scotsmen  as  a  rule 
as  Catholics. 

When  I  came  out  I  met  a  squad  of  English  sol- 
diers coming  from  church,  their  sergeants  walking 
alongside  swinging  their  canes.  And  at  6.30, 
when  I  came  home,  I  heard  English  hymns  being 
sung.  I  stopped  under  the  voute  of  the  H6tel 
de  Ville  to  listen.  The  English  have  a  room 
there,  and  service  twice  a  day  for  their  soldiers 
and  nurses.  The  men's  voices  sounded  very  well 
in  the  perfectly  still,  dark  night. 

We  never  go  out  at  night.  No  civilians  are 
allowed  in  the  streets  after  9.30  o'clock.  I  stopped 
at  the  patissiere's  one  morning  to  order  some  cakes 
for  tea,  and  found  there  three  young  Tommies 
trying  to  get  something  to  drink.  They  couldn't 
understand  the  woman,  and  the  woman  couldn't 
understand  them.  But  she  divined  that  they 
were  hungry,  and  gave  them  each  a  small  brioche 
which  they  didn't  want.  I  came  to  the  rescue, 
asking  what  they  wanted:  "Something  to  drink, 
Madame;  we  have  been  travelling  since  12  o'clock 


360  MY  WAR  DIARY 

yesterday,  and  have  had  nothing  to  eat  or  drink." 
"What  do  you  want?  Beer,  whisky?"  "Oh, 
no,  Madame,  tea;  but  we  can't  get  it."  I  asked 
the  woman  if  she  couldn't  give  them  some  tea 
and  bread  and  butter,  but  she  hadn't  any  tea, 
only  chocolate  and  cakes,  and  was,  besides,  ex- 
pecting British  officers  to  breakfast;  had  an 
elaborate  table  spread  with  cakes  and  jam. 

They  looked  so  disappointed  that  I  thought  I 
would  carry  them  off  to  the  cafe  of  our  hotel, 
where  they  would  surely  get  something;  so  I  told 
them  to  come  with  me,  and  we  all  walked  off  to- 
gether. "I  think  you  must  be  an  English  lady, 
Madame,  as  you  are  wearing  the  English  Red 
Cross  medal."  "No,  I  am  not  English,  but  I 
love  the  soldiers,  and  all  my  men  are  fighting." 

We  walked  on  very  amicably;  one  or  two 
passers-by  looked  rather  amused  at  the  party, 
and  they  tried  to  tell  me  where  they  had  come 
from,  but  their  British  pronunciation  of  French 
names  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  understand. 

When  we  got  to  the  caf6  I  told  the  patronne 
to  give  them  a  good  breakfast,  saying  to  them: 
"But  don't  you  want  more  than  bread  and  but- 
ter? Would  you  like  some  ham  and  eggs?" 
"Oh,  yes,  Mum,"  with  a  broad  smile  on  each 
young  face.  They  thanked  me  very  nicely  and 
respectfully,  and  I  left  them  in  Mme.  M.'s  hands. 

I  found  Francis  and  Captain  S.  having  tea  with 
Charlotte  when  I  got  to  the  villa.     Francis  was 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  361 

very  hungry  and  rather  tired,  having  ridden  I 
don't  know  how  many  miles  with  some  of  his 
officers,  inspecting  cabarets  (taverns).  It  seems 
there  have  been  one  or  two  cases  of  diphtheria  in 
their  cantonnement,  which  the  doctors  thought 
might  come  from  drinking  out  of  dirty  glasses; 
so  they  visited  all  the  cabarets  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, inspecting  mugs  and  glasses,  and  threaten- 
ing the  old  women  who  kept  them  with  all  sorts 
of  punishments  if  they  weren't  cleaner  and  more 
careful.  Some  of  the  ladies  were  so  irritated  and 
so  voluble  that  even  Francis  found  it  difficult  to 
deal  with  them :  such  a  flow  of  patois,  half  French, 
half  Flemish,  that  he  couldn't  always  understand 
them.  However,  the  great  point  was  that  they 
should  understand  him. 

His  life  is  not  always  very  interesting,  but  it 
is  a  change  from  the  trenches  and  carrying  des- 
patches, and  I  think  it  is  just  as  well  to  see  every 
side  of  the  war. 

He  is  astounded  at  the  British  equipment; 
such  wonderful  organisation,  and  such  abundance 
of  everything.  They  had  had  a  "church  parade" 
on  Sunday,  which  he  said  was  most  impressive, 
in  a  half-ruined  church — almost  the  whole  roof 
off,  windows  gone,  floor  too,  in  places.  The 
padre  (as  they  call  all  the  priests  and  clergymen) 
brought  a  small  harmonium  with  him,  which  Fran- 
cis played.  They  gave  him  a  book,  as  of  course 
he  doesn't  know  the  English  hymns;  and  he  said 


362  MY  WAR  DIARY 

the  men  sang  very  well.  They  finished  with 
"God  Save  the  King."  He  was  in  a  deadly 
terror  lest  he  and  the  harmonium  should  topple 
over,  the  floor  was  so  rickety;  but  they  got 
through  all  right. 

He  and  Captain  L.  brought  me  home.  It  is 
about  twelve  minutes'  walk  to  the  hotel,  and  he 
went  back  with  S.  to  dine  at  the  mess.  There 
were  a  great  many  British  officers  dining  at  the 
hotel  that  night,  and  three  or  four  enterprising 
spirits  burst  into  our  little  private  dining-room, 
possibly  in  search  of  an  adventure  of  some  kind, 
hearing  women's  voices — and  one  couldn't  blame 
them  for  that  at  Hazebrouck.  I  think  the  sight 
of  the  two  grandmothers  rather  quieted  them, 
and  they  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  without  having 
had  time  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  young  aunt. 

The  hotel  is  just  opposite  the  gare,  and  is 
always  full.  It  is  a  typical  provincial  hotel,  with 
fairly  good  rooms,  high  and  light,  with  wonderful 
furniture.  Mme.  S.  has  a  remarkable  couvre-lit, 
a  sort  of  snuffy  brown,  on  her  bed,  but  the  beds 
are  perfectly  clean  and  comfortable,  and  the 
wooden  floor  is  washed  once  a  week.  The  stair- 
case is  perfectly  dark,  but  when  we  come  down 
to  dinner  at  7  o'clock,  a  small  bedroom  candle- 
stick is  placed  on  the  flat  end  of  the  banisters, 
which  gives  a  faint  twinkle  of  light.  The  court- 
yard is  covered,  and  at  one  end  there  is  a  double 
washstand,  with  one  or  two  towels  hanging  from 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  363 

a  peg,  and  always  before  meals  there  are  two  or 
three  Tommies  in  shirt- sleeves  having  a  good 
wash.  I  should  think  no  one  ever  stayed  in  the 
hdtel  but  commis  voyageurs.  They  have  cer- 
tainly never  had  people  of  our  class  before,  and 
our  ways  and  wants  are  very  wonderful  to  them. 
It  is  kept  by  two  women,  and  all  the  service  is 
done  by  women.  There  is  one  old  maitre  d'hdtel, 
but  he  doesn't  sleep  in  the  house,  so  at  10.30  they 
take  off  the  bell  and  don't  answer  the  door. 

We  hear  violent  knocking  sometimes  between 
10.30  and  12,  and  very  strong  language  in  un- 
mistakable Anglo-Saxon  tones,  but  no  one  takes 
any  notice.  The  hdtel  slumbers  peacefully  on 
until  the  next  morning. 

Every  now  and  then  we  see  two  motor-cars 
dashing  through  the  town  at  break-neck  speed, 
the  one  behind  with  a  red  f anion  means  a  general's 
car,  his  aide-de-camp  in  front.  The  Tommies  all 
range  themselves  on  one  side  and  stand  at  atten- 
tion. 

C.  and  I  made  a  most  unsuccessful  shopping 
expedition  the  other  day,  couldn't  get  any  of  the 
numerous  things  we  wanted;  a  screen,  a  bath- 
tub, a  pair  of  thick  boots  for  Willy,  a  waterproof 
also  for  Willy.  As  usual,  the  English  came  to 
our  help,  and  a  bathtub  was  sent  up  from  Bou- 
logne or  one  of  their  military  bases. 

The  townspeople  are  very  civil  and  most  ser- 
viceable, but  they  are  a  little  bewildered  by  the 


364  MY  WAR  DIARY 

British  occupation  and  all  the  things  the  English 
want  which  the  French  soldier  knows  nothing  of. 

Everybody  knows  us  as  we  are  the  only  strangers 
in  the  place. 

I  had  a  visit  the  other  day  from  Mile,  de  B., 
the  type  of  the  good  old  French  bourgeoise,  with 
a  very  polite,  old-fashioned  manner.  She  has  a 
charming  house  in  the  rue  de  TEglise,  one  of  the 
best  streets  in  the  town,  with  a  beautiful  garden  at 
the  back,  and  pretty,  heavy,  old-fashioned  furni- 
ture in  her  rooms.  Almost  all  her  house  is  taken 
by  British  officers.  She  is  Presidente  de  la  Croix 
Rouge  for  this  part  of  the  country,  and  also  of  the 
Belgian  Relief  Committee.  She  had  seen  my 
name  on  one  of  the  Franco- American  Belgian 
committees,  and  came  to  see  if  I  could  put  her 
in  touch  with  the  Paris  committee.  They  have 
quantities  of  refugees  here,  and  among  them 
civilian  wounded,  women  and  children. 

I  thought  I  had  seen  every  stage  of  refugee 
misery  at  Mareuil,  with  those  first  miserable 
bands  that  passed  through  our  villages  the  first 
year  of  the  war,  but  there  were  no  wounded.  I 
saw  a  group  of  refugees,  women  and  children 
from  Armentieres,  the  other  day — six  women, 
young,  strong,  not  over  thirty,  and  a  little  girl  of 
eight — each  with  a  leg  off,  hit  by  a  fragment  of 
shell.  They  had  no  crutches,  not  even  canes, 
merely  sticks,  like  what  the  boys  cut  in  the  woods, 
with  a  notch  at  one  end  to  prevent  them  from 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  365 

slipping !  They  looked  utterly  miserable,  hud- 
dled together  in  a  corner  of  the  place.  It  made 
one  ill  to  see  them.  Happily  it  was  not  cold, 
nor  raining. 

I  said  to  one  of  the  women:  "Why  did  you 
stay  ?  You  were  warned  to  leave  as  any  day 
Armentieres  would  be  bombarded."  "But,  Ma- 
dame, where  can  we  go?  It  is  our  home,  our  only 
home;  no  one  wants  us  here  or  anywhere.  We 
have  no  clothes,  no  food,  no  shelter !"  It  is  per- 
fectly true.  They  don't  want  them  in  the  towns. 
They  have  already  more  than  they  can  take  care 
of. 

Another  woman  said:  "I  don't  complain,  Ma- 
dame, I  have  only  lost  a  leg.  I  am  a  washerwoman 
and  can  still  stand  at  my  tub  and  use  my  arms. 
There  are  others  worse  off  than  me — but  I  would 
like  a  pair  of  crutches." 

Mile.  D.  says  the  town  is  doing  all  it  can,  but 
they  must  have  some  help. 

Happily  the  British  occupation  is  pouring  money 
into  Hazebrouck.  The  soldiers  of  all  ranks  don't 
deprive  themselves  of  anything,  and  pay  well  for 
all  they  want.  One  of  the  girls  at  the  Bazaar  in 
the  Place,  a  sort  of  general  shop  where  you  can 
get  anything,  from  tennis-rackets  to  fine  Flemish 
lace,  told  us  she  had  learned  English  quite  well, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  understand  what  the  soldiers 
wanted.  Said  she  liked  the  Australians  very 
much — ' '  de  beaux  gars. ' '    They  all  had  money,  all 


3  66  MY  WAR  DIARY 

wanted  to  spend  it,  and  buy  presents  for  their 
girls  at  home. 

We  assisted  at  one  of  the  purchases  which  was 
most  amusing.  A  very  good-looking  young  Aus- 
tralian was  buying  a  handkerchief  edged  with 
lace.  He  was  very  particular  about  the  lace, 
that  it  should  be  good,  pas  imitation,  and  wanted 
it  put  in  a  white  box  tied  with  a  ribbon.  He  paid 
for  it,  and  carried  it  off  under  his  arm.  The  girl 
told  us  they  had  sold  dozens  of  fine  handkerchiefs 
and  cravates  trimmed  with  lace. 

These  warriors  from  over  the  sea  are  evidently 
most  amiably  disposed  toward  all  the  jeunesse 
f6minine.  When  I  came  into  the  hdtel  one  after- 
noon, five  or  six  soldiers — Tommies  and  Anzacs — 
were  sitting  on  benches  outside  the  cafe.  Quite 
a  pretty  girl  came  along,  carrying  rather  a  heavy 
basket.  The  soldiers  all  smiled  up  at  her,  crowded 
nearer  together  on  the  bench  making  a  place  for 
her  to  sit  down,  saying,  "Bon  jour,  Mamzelle, 
asseoir!"  But  the  girl  laughed  and  nodded  and 
passed  on.  I  had  the  impression  though  that  she 
had  sometimes  accepted  invitations  to  asseoir. 

They  are  a  cheerful  lot,  always  whistling  and 
singing,  and  so  pleased  to  talk  to  any  one  who 
will  talk  to  them.  I  fancy  they  are  like  the  Ameri- 
can cowboys — perhaps  not  quite  so  rough  in  their 
language.  They  are  generally  tall,  fair,  clean- 
shaven, with  nice  blue  eyes.  They  are  all  vol- 
unteers as  there  is  no  compulsory  service  yet  in 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  367 

Australia,  though  I  suppose  it  will  come,  as  I 
think  it  will  come  in  all  countries  after  this  dread- 
ful war.  There  are  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men,  just  as  there  are  in  our  Territorials.  One 
of  Francis'  colonels  is  a  leading  lawyer  in  Mel- 
bourne. 

We  talked  one  day  to  some  of  the  men  who 
had  been  righting  on  the  Somme.  They  said  it 
was  awful.  They  don't  like  the  trenches  and  the 
long-distance  guns  where  the  man  fires  mechani- 
cally at  something  he  doesn't  see.  The  shells, 
at  least,  they  can  see  and  protect  themselves 
sometimes ! 

They  don't  like  the  Germans  and  their  way  of 
fighting.  An  angry  look  comes  into  their  boyish 
blue  eyes  when  they  tell  you  of  some  of  the  Ger- 
man atrocities. 

We  hear  the  cannon  very  regularly,  but  not  so 
distinctly  as  at  Mareuil.  No  one  minds.  They 
say  they  don't  mind  even  when  an  enemy  avion 
appears;  all  run  out  into  the  middle  of  the  street. 

I  think  it  is  the  windiest  place  I  ever  was  in. 
We  get  a  fierce  blast  every  time  we  cross  the 
place.  We  are  quite  sheltered  in  our  villa.  The 
garden  is  really  charming,  so  well  arranged  that 
one  sees  a  great  distance  over  green  meadows  and 
what  they  call  here  forests.  To  us,  accustomed 
to  the  splendid  forests  near  us,  Villers-Cotterets, 
Compiegne,  etc.,  it  seems  a  very  ambitious  name 
for  the  few  clumps  of  trees  that  dot  the  horizon. 


368  MY  WAR  DIARY 

We  often  have  visitors  at  tea-time;  and  the 
men  tell  Charlotte  her  salon  looks  very  inviting 
with  its  lamps  and  red  table-cloth. 

Sometimes  we  have  unexpected  visitors.  Reg- 
gie Hunt  and  a  brother  officer  appeared  the  other 
day  and  thought  we  looked  quite  comfortable. 
He  had  inquired  at  the  station  if  Mme.  Wadding- 
ton  was  in  Hazebrouck.  (He  had  seen  me  in  the 
street  one  day  when  he  was  passing  through — 
couldn't  believe  it  was  me;  hadn't  time  then  to 
stop.)  They  told  him,  certainly,  Mme.  Wadding- 
ton  was  here,  living  with  the  ''Town-Major," 
which  sounds  queer.  They  both  had  very  large 
newspaper  parcels;  had  been  shopping.  They 
are  stationed,  I  think,  at  St.  Omer. 

Another  day  we  had  Henry  Outrey,  looking  very 
well.  He  is  just  named  interpreter  with  an  Eng- 
lish brigade;  says  the  officers  are  charming.  He 
was  going  somewhere;  he  didn't  know  where,  the 
next  day.  It  was  nice  to  see  him  and  go  back 
to  old  happy  October  days  in  Mareuil,  when  no 
war  nor  rumours  of  wars  darkened  the  horizon. 

Everybody  stops  and  talks  to  the  child  when 
his  bed  is  drawn  close  to  the  window.  His  gram- 
ophone (awful  things,  I  think)  is  a  great  joy  to 
him  and  his  friends.  We  went  for  a  drive  one 
day,  but  we  couldn't  go  more  than  a  mile  out  of 
town  without  a  sauf-conduit.  What  we  saw  of 
the  country  was  not  very  pretty — low  meadows, 
a  long,  straight  road  with  the  usual  line  of  poplars 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  369 

on  each  side.  Our  driver  didn't  seem  to  find  it 
very  pretty  either,  as  he  brought  us  back  into  the 
town  and  showed  us  the  beauties  of  Hazebrouck. 
A  camp — near  one  of  the  hospitals  with  tents  and 
flags,  and  always  a  little  patch  of  flowers,  looked 
rather  pretty.  Every  building  of  any  importance 
is  occupied  by  the  British,  with  a  large  Union 
Jack;  British  soldiers  at  the  door  and  all  sorts 
of  mysterious  letters  which  I  couldn't  understand. 
The  boys  know  them  all.  I  think  I  did  master 
R.  F.  C.  (Royal  Flying  Corps). 

The  aviators  looked  a  fine  energetic  lot  of  young 
men.  The  Francises  have  seen  seme  rather  in- 
teresting air  chases;  British  avions  chasing  Ger- 
mans, only  they  fly  so  high  it  is  rather  difficult 
to  follow  all  the  movements. 

I  am  thinking  of  going  back  to  Paris,  and  have 
sent  in  my  demand  with  all  my  papers  to  get  out 
of  Hazebrouck,  which  seems  almost  as  difficult 
as  to  get  in.  I  rather  dread  the  long  journey, 
but  it  is  not  very  cold  yet,  and  Mme.  S.  and 
Madeleine  will  come  too,  as  they  are  obliged  to 
be  in  Paris  a  few  days  on  business. 

We  have  decided  to  leave  on  Monday  the  17th. 
The  child  is  getting  on  well,  and  I  feel  I  leave  him 
in  very  good  hands.  I  shall  miss  the  tea  in  the 
winter  garden,  and  the  coming  and  going  of  tall 
British  soldiers  at  the  other  end  of  the  veranda. 

Willy  went  hare-hunting  the  other  day  with 
some  of  the  British  officers,  and  had  a  blissful 


370  MY  WAR  DIARY 

afternoon.  His  young  eyes  saw  the  hare  first, 
always,  and  he  and  the  dogs  went  mad  with  ex- 
citement until  they  were  allowed  to  start  in  pur- 
suit. They  ran  through  ploughed  fields,  over 
ditches  and  fences,  but  didn't  get  the  hare.  He 
was  covered  with  mud  up  to  his  eyes  when  he 
came  in. 

We  have  said  good-bye  to  all  our  friends  (I  think 
they  will  miss  us  in  the  shops)  and  taken  our  last 
dark  walk  across  the  place.  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
ever  see  Hazebrouck  again  ?  I  suppose  not,  and 
with  time  it  will  be  confounded  with  the  other 
war  memories.  They  are  not  all  sad  and  grey. 
The  sun  breaks  through  the  clouds  sometimes, 
when  one  hears  of  splendid  acts  of  bravery  and 
endurance  in  the  trenches — and  the  hand-to-hand 
struggles.  Or  among  the  civilians  in  the  villages 
in  the  war  zone,  where  the  women  and  children 
are  doing  men's  work  in  the  fields  and  the  farms, 
helping  each  other,  and  sending  all  they  can  to 
their  men  at  the  front. 

In  a  village  near  ours  a  girl  of  thirteen  is  run- 
ning the  farm.  At  the  beginning  of  the  war  it 
was  a  thriving  farm  with  a  man  and  his  wife, 
six  sons  and  one  daughter.  Then  the  blow  fell, 
and  all  the  men  in  France  were  mobilised;  the 
father  and  his  two  eldest  boys  went  off  at  once — 
four  hours  after  the  decree  of  mobilisation  was 
received  in  the  village.  The  farmer  had  no  time 
to  put  his  house  in  order,  but  left  the  farm  in 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  371 

the  hands  of  his  wife  and  the  two  big  boys,  aged 
fifteen  and  sixteen.  The  man  and  his  two  eldest 
sons  are  killed — the  two  next  are  in  the  army — 
the  poor  mother  a  wreck  physically  and  mentally, 
can  do  nothing,  cries  all  day.  The  whole  work  of 
the  farm  is  done  by  the  girl  and  the  two  little 
boys.  The  little  one  can't  do  much,  is  only  ten 
years  old,  but  he  can  keep  the  cows  and  carry 
cans  of  milk  or  baskets  of  butter. 

I  see  the  girl  sometimes;  she  looks  and  is  per- 
fectly well;  never  complains;  never  asks  for 
anything,  except  occasionally  a  warm  petticoat 
or  a  hood  to  keep  her  head  and  neck  warm  and 
dry  when  she  is  working  in  the  fields. 

There  are  hundreds  of  girls  doing  that  work 
all  over  France. 

We  made  our  home  journey  quite  comfortably, 
once  we  got  started,  but  there  was  a  great  crowd 
and  confusion  at  the  gare.  We  went  early,  and 
one  of  the  officers  took  us  to  a  small  room  or 
bureau  of  some  kind  where  we  could  wait  quietly 
until  our  papers  were  examined.  There  were  a 
great  many  people  in  the  room  talking  and  ask- 
ing for  information  of  all  kinds,  principally  Eng- 
lish, but  they  didn't  really  talk  loud  or  make 
much  noise. 

A  blue-coated  French  sergeant,  seated  at  a  ta- 
ble rather  peremptorily  told  people  to  be  quiet, 
not  to  talk.  I.  was  rather  astonished,  and  said  to 
the  man:   "Why  mustn't  they  talk?     They  are 


372  MY  WAR  DIARY 

not  noisy!"  "On  account  of  the  English,  Ma- 
dame, this  is  their  bureau,  and  they  don't  like 
any  one  to  talk." 

Our  carriage  as  far  as  Boulogne  was  full  of 
young  British,  Australian,  and  Canadian  officers 
going  on  leave  to  England.  Some  of  the  Aus- 
tralians had  never  seen  London,  and  were  most 
excited  at  the  idea,  and  so  afraid  they  would  miss 
the  boat  at  Boulogne,  as  we  were  late,  of  course. 
They  were  all  very  gay,  telling  all  sorts  of  stories. 
They  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  the  padres, 
for  whom  they  seemed  to  have  a  great  respect; 
said  some  of  them  were  so  human.  One  had 
preached  a  splendid  sermon  one  day,  and  remained 
afterward  talking  to  the  men,  still  reminding 
them  that  at  any  time  their  lives  might  be  asked 
of  them,  and  they  must  give  them  willingly  for 
their  country.  They  all  agreed,  and  one  young 
fellow  said:  "All  right,  Padre,  we'll  all  play  the 
game  when  the  times  comes;  but  it  isn't  for  to- 
night. Come  and  have  a  drink!"  "Yes,  I  will 
with  pleasure,"  said  the  padre,  and  a  good  long 
drink  he  took,  and  then  they  all  sang  "God  Save 
the  King,"  and  felt  very  happy  and  cheerful. 

We  passed  again  through  the  long  lines  of  bar- 
raques  and  tents  that  reach  almost  to  Amiens. 
At  every  station  there  were  British  soldiers  and 
nurses.  It  seemed  almost  strange  at  Amiens  to 
go  out  of  the  British  atmosphere. 

The  Gare  du  Nord  was  crowded  with  blue- 


WITH  THE  BRITISH  373 

coated  soldiers  coming  home  on  a  permission  de 
huit  jours,  all  smiling  and  pleased  to  be  back, 
looking  out  so  eagerly  for  their  womankind,  who, 
they  knew,  were  waiting  for  them  at  the  station 
— wives  and  children  standing  for  hours  in  the 
long  line  to  catch  their  first  glimpse  of  their  hero 
from  the  Somme;  the  children  crowding  around 
"papa,"  and  carrying  his  bag  or  his  bundle. 

It  is  tragic  to  think  how  many  "papas"  will 
never  come  back,  and  that  we  can  do  nothing 
for  any  of  our  men  at  the  front.  All  our  prayers 
and  tears  are  unavailing  if  the  decree  has  gone 
forth  and  their  lives  must  be  given  for  their 
country. 


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